


Bittersweet

by EggboyDraco



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Overcoming Mental Health Issues, Reunion, Role Reversal, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Romance, The Hawkmoth is over party, Time Skips, i promise nothing, starring gabriel agreste as hawkmoth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2018-11-17 01:59:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 86,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EggboyDraco/pseuds/EggboyDraco
Summary: A decade on from Hawkmoth's defeat, and the classmates of College Franciose Dupont had gone their separate ways.At twenty-five, Marinette Dupain-Cheng struggles with the consequences being dealt a bad hand in life, and Adrien Agreste wrestles the denial of his past, and avoids Paris at all costs.Unforeseen circumstances drive Adrien home again, but will finding each other again be enough to resolve their issues...... or will they both fall apart?[Based on Season One & Episodes 1-8 of Season Two.]





	1. A New Start

It was mid-autumn. Paris settled into the hazy lull of the dying year, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng looked down on the world from the bell tower of Notre Dame Cathedral as the last embers of sunlight flickered beneath the skyline. Of course, Paris didn't need its heroes anymore. It had been nearly a decade since Hawkmoth's defeat. Yet Marinette found comfort clad in the indestructible material of her suit, and Paris took comfort in the friendly face of its hero. 

A lot had happened in a decade. 

Marinette had finished school and went on to study fashion design under one of the best design programmes in the world. She had her prospects lined up: a great job working as a designer for a top brand company in Cannes; a modest apartment close to her new job; a loving, long-term fiancé who she wanted to spend her life with. Then her job offer fell through despite her degree's success, her apartment was sold off, and her fiancé packed his bags and ended things after six years, leaving behind a pathetic excuse for a note. At twenty-five, Marinette found herself working with her parents back in the bakery, with little promise for her future and the low morale that always follows a series of disappointments. 

She found her solace in her old patrol spot on the bell tower, and took comfort in the past, when life was going her way and she still had so many people around her.

That wasn't the case now. Alya was away studying journalism and touring the world with Nino, who'd since become a chart-topping DJ not long after graduating. Juleka was a photographer, inspired by her curse of never being in photos, and her best friend and soon-to-be wife Rose ran a little perfume shop just outside of Paris. They were leading their lives as they'd hoped they would, and Marinette yearned for something that even resembled that.

The wind picked up, and the sudden chill drew Marinette from her thoughts. Her pencil lingered over her sketch pad, where the silhouette of a model was sketched but no designs were drawn. Typical. Inspiration was a rare occurrence. 

She sighed impatiently and snapped her sketchbook closed. Climbing to her feet, Marinette took a lingering look at Paris as it settled down for the night, and felt a twinge of longing. She missed her time as a hero. It gave her a purpose beyond her normal life. But even Paris didn't need her anymore.

Unlatching her yo-yo, she leapt from the bell tower and made her way home. There was no use in moping, no matter how drastically her plans for the future had gone awry. 

Darkness settled, bringing with it a muted lull of the city at night. Landing on her balcony in a crouch, she tucked her yo-yo away. "Tikki, spots off." 

The little red kwami swirled from the earrings and landed on the railings with a small sigh. "Marinette-"

But Marinette had already vanished inside, and the kwami could only watch on helplessly as the girl she once knew drifted further and further away.

 

* * *

 

 The cacophony that was the five o'clock alarm was enough to make anyone's ears bleed. Adrien Agreste was no exception. After taking over his father's business seven years previously, early mornings weren't a stranger to him, but that never made them more enjoyable. 

"Plagg?" he yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The rosy light of dawn filtered through a gap in the curtains and dimly lit his room. Upon hearing his name, Plagg poked his head around the door to the en-suite.

"I was beginning to think you'd died in your sleep," the kwami replied drily. Adrien grinned and launched a pillow at him, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed and approaching the window. The skyline of London greeted him as the city spurred into life. Adrien's life followed his business, and a fixed residence was a thing of the past. He spent his time bouncing across the globe: from Madrid to London to meet business partners; London to Milan for Fashion Week; Milan to Tokyo to meet other designers; Tokyo to New York to meet investors for a new _Gabriel_  branch in the Time Warner Centre. Yet it had been seven years since he'd visited Paris. The thought of going back was bittersweet on his tongue. 

On the one hand, Paris was where his heart was. It was the inspiration for his work, and where he yearned to be. But it was also where he and Ladybug had battled Hawkmoth for the final time, leaving their opponent defeated and his father a broken man with an equally broken reputation. While Adrien had been rebuilding the _Gabriel_  brand over seven years, Gabriel Agreste had been serving his prison sentence in the psychiatric wing.

Puffing out his cheeks, he headed to the bathroom. The reflection of his hair was an abomination of bedhead and sleep deprivation. "Shower it is then," mumbled Adrien. 

"Talking to yourself is weird."

"Shut up, Plagg." 

As usual, he spent the majority of the morning alone, aside from Plagg. He was emailed his schedule, also as usual, and met the Gorilla by the entrance to the Covent Garden tube station to head to his meeting with some keen new investors and potential business partners. The tube meant avoiding the overwhelming rush hour traffic in the centre of London and provided a sense of normalcy that deflated his head a little. In the uncomfortably overcrowded crush of an underground train at peak business hours, he wasn't CEO Adrien Agreste, the successful multi-millionaire businessman and fashion prodigy. He was just Adrien. No title, no riches, no brand name to uphold and repair. He was another tired face in a cramped train car full of tired faces headed for another work day, squashed between a multitude of sweaty and over-exhausted people.

One of the lucky passengers who'd managed to nab a seat was indiscreetly taking photos of him and giggling to the woman on their right, who looked bashful but otherwise unperturbed. Adrien simply smiled shortly and waited for his stop. 

The weather outside Aldgate Station had unsurprisingly turned bleak, and the unpromising clouds shook a fine mist of drizzle from their icy manes. The Gorilla promptly provided an umbrella (from where Adrien wasn't sure because he hadn't been carrying one beforehand) and they made the short walk to the Gherkin, a beautiful architectural building that stood like a monochrome bullet, looming proudly over the buildings surrounding it. 

The group were gathering in Searcys, the fine dining restaurant on the uppermost floors of the Gherkin, for a meeting over breakfast. Adrien checked his watch. Just in time. Upon the opening of the lift doors, he was ushered to his table by a waiter and immediately provided a basket of pastries and bread. _How stereotypically French they think I am_ , he thought. Not that he was complaining. A basket of pastries was welcome any day of the week, as long as Nathalie remained blissfully unaware. 

"Bonjour, Messieurs et Madame," he greeted, tugging and smoothing the lay of his bespoke blazer. There was a chorus of replies, all along the line of 'Good Morning', along with one hushed voice querying if the CEO of the _Gabriel_ fashion empire spoke English. From his position at the head of the table, he could see them all watching him with anticipation as he quietened his appetite by allowing himself a mouthful of sliced peaches and yoghurt. Putting his spoon down, he clasped his hands in front of him. "I am grateful for your willingness to meet me in London today. I understand it was quite the journey for many of you."

"Mr Agreste, we thank you for the opportunity," replied a middle-aged man further down the table. Adrien nodded, trying to keep a too-broad smile from forming.

"Ah, please enjoy breakfast before we begin. A full stomach allows for inspired thinking, as my mother used to say." Breakfast was served, bringing out overstuffed plates of full English breakfasts, more pastry baskets and fresh fruit. His partners quickly tucked in, a low hum of pleasantries and mindless chatter accompanying their meals. Despite the people around him, Adrien felt isolated from them. Many of his business partners were much older than him, some even older than his father. They'd worked for decades building their careers, and he'd practically been tossed his privileged position with a silver spoon to suck on attached to it.

It didn't help that friends his own age were few and far between. Nino was touring the globe with his girlfriend Alya. Max was a video game designer with very little time on his hands. Kim and Alix were athletes, as expected. Marinette was undoubtedly ruling some branch of the fashion empire. The only person he could consistently rely on was Chloe, who didn't have a lot of free time on her hands between the multitude of modelling jobs and her father's incessant coddling, but she always made time for him when she could. Other than Nino, she was the only one he'd really stayed in touch with after graduating. 

Nevertheless, he joined the polite small talk between his potential partners, determined to make a lasting good impression. By the time they commenced their discussions of business, an hour had passed. It was pleasant to even have that brief escapism from the constant stream of work. Escapism never lasted, however, even if he longed for as little as a moment longer.

Each investor or potential business partner offered him a portfolio of ideas, including but not limited to: opening his own shopping centre; improving pay for production workers to benefit productivity; aesthetic advertising ideas for an unreleased line of designs. Usually, Adrien's only job was to review them, nod, and slowly build a larger pile beside him. Nevertheless, he was bored, and the only thing occupying him at that point in time was the files. One portfolio, in particular, caught his eye.

One of the potential business partners was a designer in her early thirties with the coolest hair he'd ever seen, and she'd proposed some alternative designs with a strong use of colour and a modern palette for a new _Gabriel_  line. She said she was seeking a job as one of the designers for his label. Adrien raised a brow.

"You realise that these designs are far from what is standard in the _Gabriel_  portfolio, yes?" he queried, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands. The woman shuffled nervously.

"Yes, I know-"

"You realise that in recent years, I've turned down designers for presenting portfolios to me that were too alternative to our usual standard and designs?"

The others at the table shifted uncomfortably, but the woman didn't avert her eyes from his. Adrien raised a brow, challenging her. She leaned forward, mimicking his clasped hands. "Of course I realise. That's why I presented them to you in the first place. The _Gabriel_  label can't continue producing lines for the general public that are similar to each other, otherwise, customers will get bored. You seem to save a lot of your best ideas for the runway, Mr Agreste, and I think that is a perilous mistake and a wasted opportunity. People want runway styles, but not at runway prices, so a variety of designs need to be available to the masses." 

Everyone at the table, even the waiter refilling a gentleman's drink, gasped. One man even covered his mouth in shock. Never in his career had anyone spoke to Adrien that way before. Despite this, he simply smiled and pushed back his chair as he stood up. The other investors at the table remained tense as if they expected him to explode. 

"I'm afraid, Ms Bergé-" he began. Everyone sucked in a breath as Adrien frowned at her. "- that you're quite right. I've been working to improve this company for seven years, and in order for that to happen, an expansion of our product portfolio is strictly necessary. My father had a classic style, but that doesn't appeal to all market segments. Your style does."

Bergé narrowed her eyes uncertainly, her face slightly pale. The others visibly let out a sigh of relief. Adrien continued, seeing as everyone else was speechless. "The designs may need altering to better merge with the _Gabriel_  portfolio, of course, but I don't see why-"

"You're... giving me the job?" asked Bergé, her brown eyes blown wide. Adrien nodded as if it were obvious.

"We need fresh creative vision at my brand. Don't let me down," he grinned. "We can discuss in depth at the end of the meeting if you have the time." Bergé nodded. "So, gentlemen, time is running short. I will consider all of your portfolios later this evening, and you'll have an email response by tomorrow morning at eight."

The meeting was adjourned, and the other hopefuls gradually left, shaking his hand and mumbling their good wishes as they left. "So, Ms Bergé, I'm quite invested in this project, so it seems only fitting that I oversee its progression and assist its development. I shall send word to the design departments in Cannes, New York, Seoul, and Tokyo that you will be recommended for one of their teams-"

"Mr Agreste, I'm afraid I can't do that." 

Adrien stopped in his tracks. "Wait... what?"

Bergé sighed and leaned towards him from across the table. "I can't move across the world. I have a young daughter and I'm a single parent. Trekking across the globe is unrealistic for the time being, as my priorities lay at home," she murmured, her eyes downcast. Adrien frowned, thinking over the dilemma as quickly as he could. 

"I'm sure we could bring a base of operations to you. Travel doesn't limit many of my other designers or myself, so I'm sure a compromise can be achieved. Where is it you base your work then?"

"I live in Paris. I only travelled here today because I managed to arrange for my mother to babysit my little girl," she smiled fondly as she talked about her daughter, but Adrien had stopped listening. Perhaps it was rude to not listen to a designer who could reinvent his brand, yet the past was dragging him back, filling his lungs with the same bittersweet memories that had haunted him for years.

 _Paris_. 

After seven years, it seemed he could no longer avoid returning there. He had to face it head-on because he couldn't stop himself after promising to help with the new project. "Mr Agreste, are you alright?"

Clearing his head, Adrien blinked rapidly to remove the images dancing in his eyes. He looked up at her and smiled unconvincingly. "Yes, sorry, I got lost in thought. Paris, you say? I'm sure we can... arrange something for that location."

"Pardon me for asking, but aren't you from Paris?"

"Ah, yes," said Adrien quietly. "It's been a long time since I went home."

 _It was unavoidable_ , he thought miserably. Business that could redefine the _Gabriel_  label called him to Paris. He had no choice.

He had to go back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to follow, guys. Feel free to comment your opinions so far, and to point out any spelling errors (I edited this very late at night).
> 
> Thank you, and please stick around ;)
> 
> My other Miraculous story, based around the tale of Chat Blanc: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7619974
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	2. Reunions

The cacophony that was the five o'clock alarm was enough to make anyone's ears bleed. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was no exception. Since moving back in with her parents a year previously, early mornings weren't a stranger to her, but it was never enjoyable to be awake before the birds.

On the adjoining pillow, Tikki had managed to remain sound asleep despite the noise, her snores escaping in tiny huffs that made Marinette smile fondly. Over ten years had passed since first becoming Ladybug, and not once had her friendship with Tikki wavered, despite the struggles of adolescence and the unexpected obstacles of adulthood persistently attempting to drive a wedge between them. Marinette found comfort in her steadfast friend and was never ungrateful for how much the kwami did for her or put up with for her sake.

Also, in that vast span of time, not once had Tikki been woken by the alarm. That particular morning was, predictably, no exception. 

The kwami finally awoke just as Marinette finished quickly blow-drying her hair, now washed and dressed in preparation for the long day ahead. "Well good morning, Sleeping Beauty, I was beginning to think I'd have to resuscitate you," Marinette giggled as the kwami yawned sleepily, greeting the day with a less than enthusiastic glare at the sun that slowly encroached the bedroom. 

"You look refreshed."

"I showered," shrugged Marinette, tying her hair in a haphazard knot on the top of her head before tugging on her shoes. "I can only get so lax in personal hygiene before Papa says I'm a health risk." Tikki observed that the end of Marinette's hair was still wet, implying that she had once again taken too long to get ready and needed to rush to make it downstairs in time to help her father fill the cream buns. The kwami sighed, watching Marinette clamber over furniture in an attempt to find discarded items of clothing to stuff in the overflowing hamper, dig her phone from between the bed and the wall, and locate the alarm clock she'd launched at the opposing wall in an unsuccessful attempt to stop the ringing.

Marinette had always been clumsy, but being scatterbrained and distracted were new traits that made getting ready for the day a lot more difficult. It saddened Tikki to see her like this. She was so far from being herself - too drained to even carry herself to the shower most days and leaving her laundry for even longer than that - that Tikki wondered if Marinette would ever find the normalcy she once enjoyed. It wouldn't matter. Marinette remained stubborn, so Tikki remained observant.

After finally managing to locate and silence the alarm clock, Marinette let out a hoot of victory before descending the stairs. Her mother was in the kitchen, stirring a pan of burnt porridge and adding spoonfuls of sugar in an attempt to hide the fact she'd forgotten about it again while tending to the cakes downstairs. 

"Morning Maman," she greeted, kissing the top of her mother's head. Sabine looked up, her face tired and lined with the definitive marks of age, but still holding the blissful happiness in her eyes that brought a smile to everyone around her. Marinette accepted a bowl of porridge and pretended to ignore her mother's usual look of half-concealed concern. After a year of the same look, it became too painful to reassure her mother every morning, so Marinette no longer tried. Her parents weren't foolish and neither was she. Marinette wasn't fine, and they had to make their peace with that. 

The clock once again called for Marinette to move, her body moving like clockwork itself, so used to this familiar routine that she could do it with her eyes closed. The normalcy of it was tedious, and she didn't know how her parents could stand it. The career she'd wanted had promised excitement and travel and hours of focused work. Working in the bakery, their lives were tedious and slow and timed, following the run of the bakery and not much else. She supposed her parents had each other, and each other's love, to rely on when things got particularly dire. Then again, they were both passionate about the ins and outs of the bakery. Marinette's dreams had always surpassed what was expected of her, but now she watched those dreams from afar. Unlike her parents, she had no one to share her burden of ceaseless normalcy and mind-numbing boredom.

Ten minutes later, the cream buns were ready to be served at the usual time, and the bakery was officially opened for the day. 

"Papa, I can cover your shifts today. Go get some rest," she said with a worried smile. Tom Dupain was suffering from a nasty chest infection. His eyes were bloodshot and hung with the bags that indicated he'd had a fitful night of coughing himself awake. His hair was messy and his skin sallow and pale. Concern wrinkled the brows of both his wife and daughter, but so far he refused to stop. 

"Marinette, it's going to be too busy, you can't possibly cover the entire day. You're already doing enough, sweetheart, I'll be fine," said Tom with a dismissive wave. His brief smile resulted in a fit of painful coughing, and her father stood wheezing for a minute. Marinette raised a brow, unconvinced. 

"I promise I'll keep everything under control, Papa. You need to focus on getting better, and I can handle this."

"I don't want to burden you-"

"Papa, if it was a burden then I wouldn't have offered to do it," she insisted. Tom finally raised his hands in surrender and patted her head fondly. After a few words of encouragement on her part, he reluctantly disappeared upstairs and Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps now the day wouldn't be so routine. 

Ten hours and two shifts later, Marinette regretted wishing that. Her feet ached and every inch of her had a fine coating of flour or sugar. The sickly sweet smell of the bakery was comforting, but also made her stomach turn at the thought of actually eating any of the foods they made. Maybe it was because she was constantly surrounded by them. It was probably subjective. 

The bakery settled into the lull of the mid-afternoon, and Marinette passed the time by playing Scrabble behind the till with Tikki, who was unsurprisingly very good. "' _Gynaecia_ ' can't be a word. Besides, how did you even make it?" cried Marinette in exasperation. The kwami giggled and tallied up her points in one of Marinette's floral notebooks.

"It's a word. It's the plural of gynoecium, or 'the aggregate of carpels or pistils in a flower'," replied Tikki in a very matter-of-fact tone that made Marinette roll her eyes in mock annoyance. There was something endearing in Tikki's company that Marinette would never tire of, even when playing Scrabble. The only games that put their friendship off the table were  _UNO_ and _Monopoly_ , which was difficult enough to play with only two players. Then the only thing that mattered in those games was the victory.

"Sometimes I wish you didn't have a thousand years worth of knowledge. It would make these games much easier," Marinette grumbled. Part of her was thankful, however, from even this brief pause in her routine. Every single day since returning to Paris had been the same, day in and day out, and the predictability of what each day would bring was enough to make her long for even a brief rush of excitement. Admittedly, this was probably down to the reminiscent longing for her hero days when she never knew what was around the corner and she had a slight adrenaline addiction. 

A customer came through the door as the rush hour began, when offices closed for the day and their employees spilt into the streets, ravenous for something delicious. Marinette could hardly retain her sigh, shoving the Scrabble board (and Tikki) from sight as the routine set in once again.

 

* * *

 

The train station was heaving with people, luggage and an atmosphere of homesickness. The people looked as impatient and exhausted as he was, except they all cracked smiles when people came to meet them. No one met Adrien. After spending the past few tedious hours on his way back to Paris, enduring a four-hour-long business meeting beforehand and the rush hour in the Euro Tunnel, Adrien could safely say he was sick to death of work, and business, and even trains. The whole palaver was draining and had left him with a headache. 

He forgot all about it once he stepped out from the hubbub of the station. Once again, he found himself in the bowels of Paris and was swallowed by a familiar sense of regret. Either because of his long absence or because he was in Paris in general, he wasn't too sure. 

_Why did I agree to this?_

Nevertheless, he was there now. He might as well stick out the project and leave as quickly as possible. The thought of getting back on the train or climbing into a private jet and escaping Paris brought less comfort than he liked to admit, but it was comforting nonetheless. 

Adrien had an hour to kill before he was expected back at the Agreste Mansion. It was too unfamiliar to call it home, but the staff had spent two weeks removing dust sheets and making sure everything was impeccable before he arrived. The sentiment was sweet. He had originally planned to stay in a hotel, but at the insistence of Nathalie, he was found himself agreeing to stay in his childhood home. 

The Gorilla had left London a day earlier than Adrien to ensure that the preparations were ready, and a punctual train meant Adrien arrived earlier than anticipated. Waiting for the Gorilla to pick him up reminded him too much of his adolescent years, in which his bodyguard traipsed after him everywhere he went, so to stop himself fidgeting, Adrien left the train station. Enveloped in the comforting warmth of his coat, he wandered the streets. Perhaps it was destiny, or fate, or some heavenly influence, but Adrien found himself standing on the steps of his old school: _Collège Françoise Dupont_.

The building was always central in his youth. From his first day at public school to his last day shortly after the final battle, when he turned away from it and didn't look back. It had been the pivotal location of many battles between the heroes of Paris and those who sought its destruction. It was also where he'd made lifelong friends, and learned things he would never have achieved in the isolation of his father's mansion.

Forlorn, that's how he felt. That building was where it all began for him, whether he'd anticipated its significance or not. Finding himself on its steps once more, it was underwhelming and overwhelming simultaneously. Its outer facade appeared more weather beaten that it had nearly a decade ago. Unsurprising really, but Adrien found himself needlessly scrutinising every inch of it. 

The sky had darkened significantly since he'd left the train station. He hadn't been keeping track of time and hadn't noticed it passing either way. But the sky was heavy with threatening clouds, and only the faintest view of the sunset was visible on the horizon. In a minute or so, the downpour started. In a few seconds, he was soaked to the skin. 

Ozone and static scented the air. Adrien found himself running for shelter at the bakery just across the square from the school. For a moment, he lingered outside. The rain pounded hard on his back, urging him inside. Adrien recalled that Marinette Dupain-Cheng used to live at the bakery because her parents owned it. Part of him wondered where she was now. _Off in some fancy studio apartment somewhere, no doubt_ , he thought with a smile. The rest of him simply pleaded for him to open to bloody door and get out of the downpour.

He pushed open the door and quickly closed it behind him, refusing to let the chill enter on his behalf. It was the least he could do to ensure the bakery stayed warm, considering he'd just waltzed in and was dripping water all over the clean floor.   

The bakery was empty, as it was very close to closing time according to the sign on the door, so Adrien approached the unmanned counter with the curiosity of someone alone in a liminal space. The hum of the walk-in refrigerator was the only thing that broke the eerie silence in what Adrien remembered to be a bustling hub for Parisian baked delicacies. His gloved fingertips hovered inches from the glass display case with the childlike temptation to press his hands against it and stare into the case with eyes untouched by the troubles of maturity. The options inside were slightly limited, as the majority of the confectionery had already been sold. He rang the service bell as the growl of his stomach made his mind up for him on whether or not to stay. 

"One minute!" called an airy voice from the store cupboard. Adrien found himself turning on his heel, twisting to observe each angle of his surroundings. The interior of the bakery hadn't changed much since he'd last visited. Perhaps there was a fresh lick of paint and a new display case, but everything else was so familiar it brought on a strong sense of déjà vu. 

The door to the storage cupboard opened with a protesting squeak and released the delicious smell of freshly-baked goods. The woman coming out of the cupboard was distracted, balancing multiple trays of cookies across her arms and trying to blow a wisp of hair from her face. "How may I-?" 

"Marinette?" 

Marinette looked up from the trays upon hearing her name and let out a surprised squeak. She wobbled and almost dropped the trays, luckily dumping them unceremoniously on the counter top before they teetered off her carefully positioned arms. She frantically rubbed flour from her apron and tucked the pesky strand of hair behind her ear. "Hello. It's been a long time."

He smiled and scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah... seven years." 

"Time flies, I suppose," she smiled warmly. Upon her smile, the brightness of her eyes and the easiness of her expression, any awkwardness brought on by years of distance dissipated. _His first friend_. Marinette had always been someone that he could be himself around, ever since a boy handed a girl an umbrella on a rainy day when no one else had. "You've not been back in town, I take it?"

"Uh, no. This is my first time in Paris since I left, actually."

"Well, it's great to see a friendly face," Marinette smiled again. Adrien felt himself cheer up a little. The warmth in her expression was comforting for him. He recollected their time together at school and felt a twist of guilt for not keeping in touch. Adrien glanced at the clock behind her and noted that he had ten minutes before the Gorilla would arrive.

"How've you been, anyway? Last I heard you were studying for an apprenticeship with Vuitton," Adrien asked, a little more inquisitively than he intended. Marinette suddenly looked downcast, as if a literal shadow had passed over her face. She busied her hands by shifting the cookie trays around. 

"It, uh... it didn't work out," she replied quietly. Suddenly, she looked back up at him with a small smile and a shrug. "A lot's changed though, hasn't it? I mean, look at Nino. Who'd've thought he'd make it so big? It's wonderful."

"Trust me, his mother had a similar epiphany." They both laughed, and Adrien felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It was a nice change to be open with someone. Being who he was in the job he had made many of his conversations more closed off. "So, gone are the famous pigtails, huh?"

Marinette's eyes widened in mortification as she touched her messy hair, tied up in a half-hearted knot that was a telltale sign of the long hours spent rushed off her feet. Her cheeks flushed slightly. "Oh, I fancied a change. Switch things up a bit, y'know?" Marinette said lightly, making a vague yet unsuccessful attempt to tame the frizz mounted on the top of her head. 

"I know the feeling."

A friendly, albeit slightly awkward, silence fell over them. In an effort to bridge the gap in conversation she asked, "So... what can I get you?"

Adrien suddenly snapped to attention. "I'll have a _pain au chocolat,_ please... if you don't mind. I know it's closing time."

"I've been on shift for over twelve hours, so trust me, at this point, I could spontaneously catch fire and still not mind. Besides, the more you eat, the fewer leftovers I stuff myself on later, so be my guest," she said with a quirked brow, putting his order on a dessert plate for him. He laughed, and Marinette smiled slightly in return. She grabbed a few of the cookies and wrapped them in paper. Adrien dug through his coat pockets to find his wallet, but before he could even offer her a euro, Marinette held up her hand. "Nuh-uh. They're on the house."

"But-"

"Adrien, it's been seven years since we last spoke in person, and you look like you've had a long day. One order on the house doesn't harm anyone," said Marinette softly, nudging the packaged cookies and the pastry across the counter. "If anything, you're saving my waistline."

Adrien smiled, looking at the woman he'd never got to see. After his father was defeated, Adrien began studying at home again and rarely saw any school friends. It had been too difficult to see their pitying looks, even from his closest friends. The Marinette before him wasn't as shy or awkward as she had been in their school days. She was different, yet the thoughts of their youth were so distant now that it was difficult to remember what about her had changed so blatantly.

"What brings you back to Paris?"

"I have a new project here. Returning wasn't on the cards until now, so I'm excited to get it done, then I'm off to... God knows where," he explained, taking a bite of the sweet treat she'd served up for him. 

"You don't sound too enthusiastic about it," she mumbled. He scratched behind his ear awkwardly.

"That obvious, huh?" Marinette nodded. "I admit that I wasn't too happy to be back. But I knew Paris would catch up to me sooner or later." He expected her to look offended, as if she might take what he said personally. Instead, she nodded understandingly, all while nibbling on a cookie. 

Clearing her throat, she replied, "I wasn't too excited to be back at first. I suppose I'm still not. But Paris is one of those places, I think. You want to be here, but also far away from here, all at the exact same time."

Adrien nodded. There was something comforting about her words. Someone, after seven years, finally understood what he meant. He also knew that from the look on Marinette's face, she also had a reason for the way she thought of her home city. Of course, he was curious, but not enough to invade her privacy. He doubted intrusive questions after seven years would be appropriate. 

Glancing at the clock, he choked slightly on his _pain au chocolat_ as he stuffed what was left into his mouth hurriedly. His urgency, and the fact he looked like a hamster, made Marinette laugh. "I almost completely forgot, the Gorilla's picking me up," he coughed. Checking out the window, Adrien wasn't surprised to see the Gorilla already waiting in the car for him. He pulled a pen from his coat pocket and offered out his hand. A beat. Marinette placed her hand in his, albeit uncertainly. Adrien scrawled his phone number on her hand and smiled. "Just in case. It was nice to see you again, Marinette."

The way he said it implied he wasn't expecting to see her again, and he winced slightly because he knew she'd picked up on it. Despite this, she didn't seem outwardly upset by it. Instead, she glanced over his shoulder, acknowledged the rain and Adrien's soaked clothes, then held up a finger as if she'd had an epiphany.  

"You'll catch your death out there in this weather, especially considering you're already soaked. Hang on a minute." Marinette vanished into the store cupboard and Adrien moved closer to the door. Opening it, he could feel the rain as it cooled Paris following the heat of the day. Cautiously, he put his hand out, catching the raindrops in his palm. A minute or so later and Marinette reappeared carrying an umbrella. She squeezed into the doorway beside him and opened it beneath the rain. Turning, she offered it to him.

Adrien watched her for a second, his breath catching in his throat slightly. Raindrops turned her white t-shirt translucent at the shoulders, but she didn't attempt to protect herself from the rain. She simply stood stoic, the umbrella still outstretched towards him. Marinette's eyes seemed to shine in the gathering darkness, and Adrien was transfixed. "Is... that my umbrella?" he said, finally drawing himself from his stupor. 

"The very same one," replied Marinette with a grin. Again, he found himself staring, only this time it was in surprise and he managed to shake himself out of it. He reached for the umbrella, the very same one he'd given her over a decade ago. Their fingers brushed, then it was his. "How ironic would it be if it closed on you?"

"Very. This is already very eerie." They laughed once more and Adrien stepped further into the weather. Marinette wrapped her arms around her stomach but made no attempt to get out of the rain. She gave a short wave but said nothing. A part of him was disappointed that she didn't. Then she turned, and headed back inside, passing her mother and heading upstairs.

Adrien looked at his feet uncertainly, then smiled. _She'd kept the umbrella_.

He left, climbing into the back of the car and looking back through the windows of the bakery. He saw the bakery lights being turned off by Marinette's mother. He saw the lights in the apartment above turn on and off again a few times as the family bustled about. But what he didn't see as the car began to drive away, was Marinette Dupain-Cheng appearing on her balcony, allowing the rain to soak through her clothes to her skin, desperately hoping the chill would make her feel _something_.

His car vanished around the corner, and Marinette felt nothing, not even the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may seem final, but trust me, there are many more chapters to come ;)
> 
> Feel free to comment your opinions of this chapter, and check out my Chat Blanc fic on my profile :3
> 
> Thanken you 
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	3. Discovery

Silence. All around him the house was still. Even when it was only himself and his father living there, it was never so quiet. Normally, any kind of peace would've suited Adrien just fine. But being back in Paris, being less than a train ride from his father and being surrounded by the stagnancy of his former home, the silence was unnerving and eerie. 

In his room, the cleaners had done a brilliant job. Despite not being lived in for seven years, the only sign it wasn't regularly used was the staleness of the air. Adrien was used to this. Bouncing around the globe and staying in one place for no more than a week meant that no room ever accustomed to the smell of home the way long term residences do. Adrien's room was unfamiliar. Once more, he was astounded by the sheer vastness of it in comparison to the comfortable but not homely size of most hotel rooms. 

Mulling over something so insignificant was pointless. He doubted he'd be staying there long enough for it to truly become his room again. Looking back, Adrien had never felt an attachment to his room. His father had filled it with meaningless luxuries like a foosball table and a climbing wall as reconciliation for hardly being around, but he had no interest in them. If anything, it distanced him more. 

Adrien peeled off his sodden clothes and turned on the shower in the en-suite. He watched the water run for a while, too tired to stand under it, simply reabsorbing the Parisian atmosphere. It was both foreign, and his home. Being at such odds with the situation was hardly doing him any good, but there wasn't much to be done. Figuring he'd either accept it or he wouldn't, Adrien finally brought himself to shower.

By the time he'd finished, his fingers looked like raisins and Plagg was grumbling discontentedly. "You need to fold your clothes."

"Later."

"You're a slob, y'know? Besides, dirty laundry really puts me off my Camembert," replied the kwami sourly. Despite this, Plagg had still made his way through two slices of the cheese and didn't appear to be relinquishing what was left of it any time soon. 

"Camembert really puts me off doing dirty laundry," grumbled Adrien, who wrinkled his nose as Plagg devoured yet another triangle of the foul-smelling fromage. Unconcerned, Plagg polished off what was left as Adrien slumped down in front of the television. It was almost ten o'clock. As usual, the night time news played on a loop and after the repeats became synonymous, Adrien's fidgeting began. 

Paris bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Everything about it set his teeth on edge. Every wailing siren howling down the streets sent him back to the fateful day of the final battle. Ladybug and Chat Noir versus Hawkmoth. It had been a matter of minutes before Gabriel Agreste was in handcuffs, and Adrien's world fell apart. 

Plagg had been there for him, a constantly irritated yet well-meaning presence to help keep his head above the water. The kwami had shown no signs of regretting his choice of companion over the past decade, regardless of how unfathomably miserable Adrien had been at times. 

Still slouched on his side, Adrien's mind continued to wander. His only tether to the present-day was the feeling of his face pressed into the fabric of the sofa, and its musty scent as he disturbed the fibres. From his window, he could see Paris as night truly fell. Each light was a twinkling firefly, occasionally flickering on and off as and when they were needed. Each distant sound was the remnant of the bustling city as it faded into sleep. Everything about the process was drowsy and calm, but Adrien felt at odds with it. His body buzzed with energy, and his veins were on fire. Sleep wasn't even a dot on the horizon. 

With a dissatisfied sigh, Adrien swung his feet to the floor and propped himself up. It had been a while since he'd felt to antsy. The desire to run, to escape, made his fingers twitch and his knee bounce. In a place where he'd lost so much, he'd gained an anxiety that brought with it the drive of adrenaline. 

Suddenly, he was incapable of sitting still. "Can you stop that? You're shaking the sofa and I'm trying to nap," grunted Plagg, aiming a halfhearted swat in his direction. Adrien couldn't drag his eyes from the skyline.

"Plagg, do you fancy a run?"

"Didn't I just say I'm trying to nap?" Adrien rolled his eyes, standing up despite his kwami's obvious lack of enthusiasm. Plagg watched him warily, his acidic eyes narrowing as he glanced between Adrien and the window he'd opened. "What on earth are you-"

"Plagg, claws out!"

 

* * *

 

Less than a mile away, and the fidgeting had spread to Marinette like an airborne virus. Her hands itched for something to do. Naturally, she reached for her sketchbook and pencils. The outlines of mannequins were still on the page, waiting eternally to be adorned in one of Marinette's esteemed designs. The point of her pencil lingered just above the page, noncommittal. 

She clenched and unclenched her fists. No spark of brilliance came. The blankness of the page seemed to mock her. A spur of heated impatience flashed up her spine and Marinette tore the page out. Then another page, this one innocent of any mockery. Then another. And another. 

She couldn't stop. The defaced skeleton of the sketchbook's cover glared up at her. There were no more pages left. They fluttered around her like obscene snowflakes, taunting her. Some pages lay scrunched into balls that scattered across her floor. 

Her breath left her lungs in ragged, hysterical pants. Frustration enticed her into doing something reckless. What that was, she wasn't sure, but she was desperate to find out. Tikki watched over her, observing at a safe distance. The kwami didn't know this Marinette. She was alien to her, so unlike the person she was that she was terrifying. A stranger.

The frustration turned into tears. Marinette launched the remains of the sketchbook at the opposing wall, satisfied only at the thud of it landing rather than the act of throwing it in the first place. She fell to her knees. Part of her wanted to run to her hiding place at Notre Dame, but she was tired. Too tired. It was an exhaustion that seeped into her bones like lead, weighing her down. Marinette was helpless. Too tired to run, too weak to fix everything that made her feel so hopeless.

Sabine found her like that, hunched on the floor, tucking into herself because that's what made her feel safe. Marinette felt her mother console her, wiping her tears and coaxing her off the floor and onto the chaise lounge. The warmth of Sabine's hugs grounded her, tethering her to one spot until the overwhelming threat of everything subsided enough that she didn't want to escape anymore. 

As the world she knew felt like it was crumbling around her, her mother helped pick up the pieces. And suddenly, Marinette wasn't so alone. 

 

* * *

 

Notre Dame looked beautiful at night. From the highest point on the bell tower, Chat Noir could see the majority of Paris. The breeze reminded him how refreshing it was to see the world from a different perspective, rather than from behind the encasement of glass. That particular spot seemed to cease his restlessness. It was detached from the world, yet it was the focal point of it all. Chat stopped running and perched on a ledge, admiring what thrived around him.

The lights surrounding him seemed more real now, less like fireflies. No distance stood between him and Paris. The isolation of it wasn't lonely either, simply comforting. 

Being sat in their old meeting place, Chat's mind wandered to Ladybug. Where was she now? Often she'd talked of her dreams of travelling the world, and how her passions would take her away from here. Back then, she'd seemed wistful about it, as if the idea of leaving was conflicting. He hadn't understood it at the time. A decade on and he understood, simply because that was his conflict too. 

He wondered if she was angry at him. After they'd defeated Hawkmoth, Chat Noir vanished. He dropped off the radar and hadn't seen his Lady since. He never said goodbye or explained why even the thought of wearing the suit again had been unbearable. 

It had been ten years since she'd seen him. Occasionally she'd been on the news, swooping through Paris even after the heroes were no longer needed, but he had never been brave enough to face her. Chat wanted to explain why, to reconcile for his inexplicable absence. It was too late now. Too much time had passed. 

The chill of the air numbed his senses. His suit may have been indestructible, but it was far from insulating. Chat Noir fondly remembered complaining about this to Ladybug. He'd received only a witty remark in response, as anticipated. How he longed for that now. Even the briefest glimpse of her would've been enough. 

Was he ready? Probably not. Did it matter? Probably not.

Sat on the bell tower, it was the first time in a decade that he'd suited up as Chat Noir. Despite this, nothing about his former alter-ego was unfamiliar. From the twitching of his ears to the paw-print soles of his boots, Chat Noir was as much a part of him as he had been so long ago. 

It excited him. 

Adrien wondered why it had taken so many years to even think of becoming Chat Noir again. Perhaps cowardice, or unwillingness. Neither seemed like a viable excuse when he reflected upon it. 

Free-falling from the bell tower, the euphoria of adrenaline brought on a familiar thirst for trouble. He greeted it like an old friend. Barely extending his staff in time, he vaulted over the rooftops. The rush of the wind and the bite of the night air was uncannily habitual, and Chat found himself pushing harder. If he reached out his fingers, then he would be a hair's breadth from his physical limitations. _Slow down, you're getting ahead of yourself_ , his father would have scolded. But it had been a long time since he'd listened to - or even seen - his father.

Chat wasn't going to start now. 

Each thud of his boots urged him forwards. The rush seemed to rile him up further. The city flew by in blurs and fluctuating noise. Half-starved of oxygen, his lungs pleaded for a reprieve. 

 _Faster_. 

He heard someone shout his name. Not _his_ name, but Chat Noir's. He grinned widely. The more he ran, the further he felt from his troubles and the closer he felt to fully regaining his Chat Noir persona. Normally, donning a mask is deemed an act of hiding yourself away. In Adrien's case, it was the mask that presented his real self to the world.

Gone was the weight of a staggering business. Gone was the serious facade he'd been forced to don. Gone were the years of self-imposed isolation. Gone was the frozen tundra of anxiety weighing down his body. 

Adrien was free. 

Another leap. Paris felt like home again. A strong breeze and the remnants of the rainstorm resisted him, attempting to slow him down. But nothing could stop him now because Adrien was _free_ , and Chat Noir was back. 

He was back, and he felt better than ever. 

 

* * *

 

The morning greeted Marinette with the silence of sleeping birds and a middle finger. She took it with a pinch of salt, and rolled herself off the chaise lounge, landing with a harsh thud on the floor. Her rough evening the night before left her eyes puffy and her mouth as dry as sandpaper. 

Marinette groaned, casting a scathing glance at the clock before leaping to her feet in alarm. She was over an hour late. The alarm must have broken when she launched it at the wall the morning before. Cursing, she began rummaging around her bedroom in a desperate search for clean underwear and a change of clothes. Due to her tardiness, there was no time to wash the tiredness from her body and rejuvenate herself for the day, so Marinette resigned to running down the stairs two at a time to grab something caffeinated. 

Reaching the bakery a few minutes later - and with only half her coffee intact after spilling the majority of it on the stairs - Marinette paused to catch her breath for a moment. When she looked up, her parents were staring at her with matching mingled expressions of concern and surprise. "Marinette, are you alright dear?" asked her mother softly. Marinette nodded hastily, chugging the remnants of her coffee before grabbing her apron. 

"Is there anything that needs doing?" she asked. From where he stood sweeping the floor, Tom shook his head. Judging from the time, her parents were on a thirty-minute break as they waited for the final goods to bake before they opened for the day. Despite this, they almost always worked through it, using the time to whip fresh cream, prepare more batches of bread or ensure the bakery was spotless.

"About that-" began her father.

As he trailed off, Sabine sighed and interjected, "Marinette, we'd like you to take a few days off." Marinette blinked. She hadn't had a day off since she'd returned to Paris. The entire concept was slightly foreign, and despite her desire for anything other than her tedious routine, the notion of having time to herself was daunting. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the time off. It had just been so long since she'd been allowed time on her own, that she could hardly remember what she enjoyed doing. 

"Marinette?" She'd completely zoned out, too lost in thought to focus on the conversation. Rapidly, she blinked and smiled to assure her parents that she was listening. "We just think it's what's best for you."

"It's fine. I'll be upstairs then." It felt strange. The apartment was so quiet, and for the first time in months, Marinette saw the sunrise as its light encapsulated the living room. Tikki exited her purse and hovered by her shoulder, observing the room with a bright expression.

"We can do whatever we like today," she squeaked. Truthfully, Tikki deserved the time off as much as Marinette did. After all, the faithful kwami went everywhere with her and tolerated Marinette's unnecessary and tiring excursions as Ladybug once night fell. 

Marinette sighed and said, "What would you like to do?" 

The kwami didn't even require time to consider. Grinning, she replied, "Breakfast." Marinette wondered why she even bothered to ask, laughing at her giddiness about the prospect of breakfast foods. Grabbing the remote, she switched on the television before gathering the ingredients for pancake batter. Listening to the news or other mindless drivel made preparing the food seem less tiresome. 

Tikki was more than happy to assist, passing her flour and eggs as required and hovering over the rim of the bowl in anticipation. It was a wondrous thing to watch the affect food had on the demeanour of a kwami. Honestly, Marinette could disappear in a cloud of smoke and the only thing that would concern Tikki was that the pancakes weren't ready yet. 

Just as she was preparing the first pancake, her phone rang.

 ** _Caller ID: Alya Césaire_**  

"I'm sorry, the person you're attempting to contact is no longer available. Please leave a message after the tone."

"It's 'after the beep', girl. You know better," tutted Alya from the other end of the phone. Marinette grinned at the sound of her best friend's voice. After all, it was a miracle when Alya found time for a phone or Skype call. They hadn't seen each other in person in over eight months. Marinette missed Alya more than she'd admit out loud, for fear of boosting Alya's ego. 

"I'm just teasing. How's Canberra?" replied Marinette. Tikki was angrily gesturing at her for whatever reason, but she waved the kwami away. The line crackled for a second.

"It's good. Nino's busy so I've been working on my article submission before the university gives up on me altogether. We're going for dinner once his show's over. I'm thinking Italian."

"You're in Australia, why not enjoy the local cuisine?" 

"Let's just say that Nino dared me to try Billy tea, witchetty grubs and grilled kangaroo when we went on a sightseeing tour. Never again," Alya replied definitively, snorting a laugh. Tikki was tugging on Marinette's hair now, but wouldn't say what was bothering her. 

She cringed slightly, merely stating, "Witchetty grubs are very nutritious."

"Try eating one, Mari, then get back to me on that." They slipped into the comfort of a catch-up conversation. It'd been at least a fortnight since they'd had a conversation that lasted more than two minutes. "Oh- Marinette I've got to go. Something's come up at the gig and Nino needs me to go. Sorry, girl."

It was fun while it lasted. "Don't worry about it Alya, but I'm expecting a full catch-up over Skype soon. Promise?"

"It's a date. Okay, see you later Mari." The phone line went dead before Marinette could squeak a reply. She sighed. Alya was always rushed off her feet. She wondered how her friend had the patience for all the hubbub that came with going on a world tour. Then again, Alya had never been someone to take the easy route.

Tikki was seething. "Marinette, the pancakes!" 

With a shriek, Marinette spun to face her forgotten food. What was left of it, anyway. The smell of charred food permeated the air. The pancake itself was more reminiscent of soot than something edible. She cursed. Rushing to turn off the hob, she dumped the smouldering pan in the sink and set it to soak in the water. The kwami watched her with a blank expression, unperturbed. "I tried to warn you."

"I was talking with Alya," Marinette pouted. "Do you fancy cereal instead?" It was less promising than pancakes, but also decreased the prospect of further disaster. Either way, neither of them objected. 

Just when Tikki figured they were out of danger and might actually have breakfast at some point in the day, the news came on. The main story of the day began its broadcast.

Marinette dropped the milk. It crashed to the floor and began draining from the carton onto her feet and the surrounding floor. The spillage wasn't even noticed until her mother came into the kitchen and openly sighed. Even when her mother began chastising her, it was as if the world had been put on mute. Nothing got through to her. 

Normally, Marinette would've blamed it on clumsiness or fatigue. That morning, it wasn't the case. 

_'Chat Noir sighted in Paris'._

The headline branded itself into her retinas. Her heart had dropped to the bottom of her chest. A strange cocktail of shock and pure joy seeped into her chest. Chat Noir. It had been a decade since she'd last seen him. He'd looked ill after they defeated Hawkmoth and had left in a hurry. She hadn't seen him since. Neither had the entirety of Paris. 

Yet here he was. 

Various grainy clips of footage featuring a figure clad in black leaping over the rooftops in the middle of the night using a familiar silver staff. Blond hair dimly illuminated as he passed streetlights. Cat eyes flashing, a feline grin sprawling across his face. 

"Marinette-?" her mother's query fell on deaf ears. She stared at the TV, nonplussed. 

" _Chaton_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super long update time. I have no excuse, considering I finished school about 3 weeks ago. I just haven't been updating well, and this chapter took forever to put together so it made sense and was relevant to the story. 
> 
> Question of the chapter: Do you all like the story so far?
> 
> Mainly because I'm struggling for a plausible story line and was wondering if you wanted me to complete this story. 
> 
> Either way, thank you for reading guys. 
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	4. Maybe It's Destiny?

A glass of wine and a pep talk from Tikki brought Marinette from her stupor. The wine calmed her jitters and Tikki provided an inexhaustible source of comfort. It was hardly enough to get that darn cat off her mind but was sufficient in allowing her to function properly. 

The days designating her time off suddenly seemed monstrous and imposing. The prospect of drowning them in day drinking by finishing the wine bottle she'd opened was promising. But Tikki's glowering expression left no room for argument. "I was promised days off and your self-pity won't stop me! Get a grip, Marinette!" cried Tikki, attempting the most serious expression she could muster. Her endeavour was intended to be intimidating, but Marinette only laughed. 

Tikki looked irked. Prising the empty wine glass from Marinette's clammy fingers, she huffed in frustration. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng, you are the hero of Paris! You don't mope!"

"I'm not moping!" cried Marinette indignantly, crossing her arms with a pout.

"Yes, because pouting certainly proves you're not moping," said Tikki. "Since when have you drunk wine in the middle of the day?"

"Since I felt like it. Stop chastising me." Despite this, she made no attempt to reach for the glass again. Instead, she sighed and massaged her temples. "Ugh, I feel a headache coming on."

Tikki patted the top of Marinette's head sympathetically. "We should go somewhere. After all, nothing cures a headache like fresh air." 

It took a while, but Tikki managed to rouse Marinette just enough to force her to put her shoes on and leave the house. The air was crisp and cool. Ozone scented the air and promised rain. Nevertheless, the streets were full of people. Observing them was enlightening. These people had intricate and complicated lives, yet Marinette only saw one version of them. Tourists stood snapping their cameras. Businessmen blew through the crowds like gusts of wind, preoccupied and always in their bubble where time ran faster. Mothers wrestled stropping children and tried in vain to placate them. An old man sat scattering seeds for the pigeons. Those were the versions of them that she saw. It was strange to think just how many versions of her people remembered. Perhaps she was the woman who looked like she was aimlessly wandering, which she was. Perhaps someone saw through the aimlessness and saw the tired, puffy-eyed girl. Some particularly observant people may remember her as the woman with freckles wandering Paris and talking to herself. 

A blue car grumbled through the crossing, spitting acrid fumes as it passed. The crossing wailed. It took over half an hour, but the walk to the Louvre was worth the muted noise. It was busy, as anticipated, but somehow it was detached from the wider array of hubbub. There was something hushed about the ambience of a gallery. 

Marinette had visited the Louvre many times in her life, and walking around was practically second nature. Happiness was found in losing herself to the rhythm of its halls and displays. Weaving between the swathes of visitors soon became automatic. The familiarity of it, despite not visiting for a while, was different to the familiarity of the bakery's routine. It was a welcome otherness. 

For a while, she sat at one of the benches, quite content to stare at the masterpieces on display. Memories were numerous in the Louvre. They weren't all hers, but they were there. They drifted through the air like ethereal fish swimming through unseen water. Many were of the afternoons spent perusing the gallery with Alya, Rose and Juleka. One visit in particular with just Alya popped into mind, when they bought gourmet ice cream afterwards so they had an excuse to be late returning home. If she submerged herself enough in a memory, it felt like she'd time travelled: the midsummer sun still warmed her; sweat still salted her skin; the refreshing coolness of the coconut and lime ice cream still danced on her tongue. 

Pleasant memories occupied her and kept her company when Tikki couldn't be seen. Marinette had learned it was easier to cope, sometimes, if you felt you weren't alone. 

Then she remembered the Copy Cat akuma. It was perhaps the most scandalous plot premised by an akuma. Chat Noir had been framed for stealing the Mona Lisa and had been forced to resist and escape arrest as a result. Despite the real culprit being an akuma, Chat hadn't been a welcome or trusted face in Paris for months after that incident. As Ladybug, she'd seen his disheartened face when he was snubbed by reporters or Mayor Bourgeois. That was a memory she never wanted to relive, yet always found at the forefront of her thoughts whenever she saw that painting. 

And she was staring at it now. Miles into her own subconscious, she'd walked there. It was one of the busiest sections of the Louvre, so Marinette took a step back, more than happy to analyse the painting from a distance. The plain face of Mona Lisa, on its tarnished and damaged canvas boards, seemed to glare back just as fiercely. 

Tikki tugged on the strap of her purse, trying to pull her from her thoughts. It was too late. Marinette was stuck in the past. The present had nothing to keep her there.

She wondered about Chat. _Why was he back? And why had he been gone for so long?_  

 

* * *

 

The mid-day sun had been all but eradicated by the downpour of rain and the overcast sky. It was less than stellar weather for his first meeting on home turf with Ms Annette Bérge, so they'd agreed to meet somewhere indoors. 

Adrien scurried under his umbrella through the streets. Cars sidled sluggishly past with their headlights blaring through the thickness of the rain. Paris was a haze of unsaturated grey, nothing overly distinguishable beneath it. Weather like this made him want to stay inside, where it was warm and he could quietly enjoy the novelty of being alone as the raindrops politely tapped the glass. Then he could make a hot drink as the rain became more confident and persistent in its knocking, before sinking into a chair by a window. 

But he was outside, trapped beneath a dome of impenetrable grey, as the rain bore down mercilessly on the heart of the city. As lightning began to flash and threaten the ground below, the streets emptied around him. Even the hardier tourists weren't impervious to the foreboding promise of a storm and the chill that accompanied it. 

Paris clearly wasn't too impressed by his return. He'd been there for less than a week, and it had rained every day since. 

The lights of the Louvre were beacons of refuge in the bleakness of the streets. He ran across the _Ponts des Arts_ bridge, splashing through enough puddles to soak his legs completely. Nathalie would be furious that he'd ruined another good pair of Italian leather shoes. She'd scolded him before, after returning from Tom  & Sabine's Bakery, because he'd drowned a pair then too. 

Annette Bergé was waiting by the end of the bridge, looking uncharacteristically demure in a pencil skirt and blouse. Her hair- which he'd previously remarked as the coolest hair he'd ever seen- did not disappoint, however, and was styled in outrageous yet elegant teal and lilac curls. Her umbrella was rested against her shoulder as she tapped away on her phone, seemingly unperturbed by the blustery weather.

When he stopped in front of her, she promptly tucked her phone into her blazer pocket and flashed him a lilac-lipped smile. "Bonjour, Monsieur Agreste. Thank you for agreeing to meet me here. I know it's rather... unconventional."

"Ah, but I am not here for conventional, am I? Lead the way, Mademoiselle." 

They were brisk as they walked towards the Louvre in an attempt to stay as dry as possible. As they went, Annette explained her choice of venue. "Many of my designs were drawn here, and are influenced by the architecture and pieces on display. I thought it'd be a good place to start, just to help you grasp the concept I'm going for with this new line."

"Innovative. It's specialised to Paris, too, but it could also limit how the designs go on to be developed," he replied. From all the rushing around, he was slightly out of breath. The Gorilla had offered him a lift, but Adrien had hurriedly declined. That was before he knew the weatherman had forecast torrential rain for the majority of the day. Looking back on it- and on his soaked clothes- Adrien wished he'd accepted the offer.

Annette huffed, also slightly out of breath, and said, "I've got this all thought through. You need to trust me and my capability, Monsieur Agreste."

"Just call me Adrien. We're not in a meeting."

"Adrien it is then." 

For the purpose of convenience, they'd paid for their admission beforehand - calling ahead of time and stating their business - so their need to wait to enter was waived and they were escorted through. Annette tugged a portfolio folder from her handbag. How she'd managed to fit it in there was beyond his comprehension. 

Wetting a finger by dabbing her tongue, she flicked through dozens of pages of research, her eyes scanning every page until she found the right one. "A-ha, right." She cleared her throat. "So, this is the basic manufacturing plan. I know nothing's set in stone yet, but I've been in this game a while. If we have an outline of what we need to do to produce it all, then we're already one step ahead."

"Impressive. I didn't expect you'd have so much done already."

"In fairness, I've been working on these design ideas for years, just never had the means to actually use them. They still need... work, and we may need other designers to help develop of course but-"

"I've already brought in Hyun-Gi Kim from the Seoul design team and Karen Beaumont from the New York design team. They're two of the best designers in the company, and they put their names forward. This project is already accumulating interest."

"Is that a good thing?" asked Annette. Her expression was wary. Unsurprising really, in their line of work, designers are never eager about accumulating interest.

"Yes, and no. This project is straying far from the traditional _Gabriel_ style. That causes interest... and jealousy. The other design teams are likely to be designing their own similar line, and if our competitors get wind of it then so will they. Even inside the company, we're working against each other. Usually, this method is productive: the best team gets the most funding and media attention, the worst team gets the least funding and considerably less customer interest. No one wants to be the worst, so they compete. Currently, we're ahead of the rest by a long way. Let's hope it stays that way. The last thing you or I need is an embarrassing failure on an already precarious project," warned Adrien, his brow furrowed. To his surprise, Annette didn't look intimidated. Instead, she had a cocky and almost smug look on her face. It was an expression that looked like it belonged to someone much younger than her. 

"Then we'll just have to work quickly." 

For another hour or so, they wandered the exhibits. Every design was matched to the corresponding masterpiece that it was based off. Each piece was discussed at length. Annette's notes on each design were scribbled over and scrawled out, each annotation making way for a new one until every design idea was cramped with haphazard notes and corrections. 

It was beautiful to watch the process as every thought seamlessly translated onto pages and pages of paper. Not a single notation was forgotten. Truthfully, despite the tiring burden of all the work, Adrien didn't mind it. It was the only thing he knew, and over the years he'd grown to appreciate the intricacy of it. When he was modelling for his father, the work behind-the-scenes never meant much to him. He'd thought that one day he'd escape the world of fashion. Now, it fascinated him just how much effort went into every stitch. Adrien wasn't totally infatuated with his work - he'd spent too long trapped in the industry to truly appreciate it - but seeing designers like Annette, who'd worked for years and endlessly pored over designs to perfect them, made a new project seem less tiresome and more refreshing. 

It was also refreshing to be somewhere new, and as eager as he was to leave, part of him was thankful that Annette declared she could only work in Paris. Adrien was rediscovering his home city. Every sight, every smell, every sound. They were newly fascinating aspects of Paris that he'd long since forgotten. It startled him just how different it all seemed. The Louvre was one of the few places that were at least slightly familiar.

The last time he'd visited the gallery was when the Copy Cat akuma victim impersonated him and stole the Mona Lisa. Although he'd obviously been pardoned of any wrong-doing, Adrien hadn't returned to the gallery since that day. Despite no one knowing his secret identity, he'd felt like everyone was watching him if he so much as approached the Louvre, waiting for him to make a mistake. The impact of that incident had long since worn away. Revisiting the Louvre felt as mundane as visiting any other gallery he'd been to. It wasn't a looming threat anymore. 

Oddly enough, Annette had based the defining design of the project around arguably the most famous piece on display at the Louvre: The Mona Lisa.

It was the most undeveloped design, but between them, they agreed it was the headlining piece. Unlike the rest of the portfolio, this garment was runway only. It was simply a display piece to help market the unique new line, and would never be mass produced for the various high-end _Gabriel_ stores littering the globe. Intended to invigorate the audience, it was elaborate, elegant, and undeniably lavish. The perfect marketing ploy to encourage customers.

The colour scheme was admittedly rather limited and dark - after all the Mona Lisa is hardly a colourful piece- but as Annette said, "Dark makes it sexy, and I can definitely work with sexy."

He didn't dare disagree with her.

Just as they were approaching the Mona Lisa, a familiar face caught his eye. Marinette was sat on one the benches, staring at the Mona Lisa with an infatuated yet furious glare. Loose strands of black hair hung about her face having fallen from the unkempt knot at the base of her skull. The whimsical intensity of her expression was encapsulating. 

Mystified by what could possibly be so capturing for or about her, Adrien considered leaving her be. The infatuation of her eyes on her target was too strong for him to be content breaking. Nevertheless, he found himself wandering towards her, deciding that he would cause offence if he ignored her and she noticed it. "Marinette-"

Marinette just about leapt a mile out of her skin. Her shriek drew the attention of half the gallery visitors. "What the- Adrien?" she exclaimed, her eyes blown wide in alarm. "God above, please don't make a habit of making me jump."

"Sorry, you were a little distracted so I didn't want to, uh-" Adrien stammered, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Why wouldn't the ground just swallow him whole? He pretended to ignore Annette's raised eyebrow at his blush of embarrassment. 

Marinette didn't seem to notice and flashed him a brilliantly awkward grin. "It's alright. It's just a bit of an... off day for me, shall we say."

"I can see that. Interesting fashion choice there, Marinette," he said, an amused smile tweaking his lips. Marinette flushed. Apparently, she hadn't realised that she was wearing two mismatched shoes. Or that her hair didn't appear to have been brushed. Or that her shirt was inside-out. Marinette seemed entirely scatterbrained compared to her collected albeit overworked self when they met at the bakery.

"I, uh... got ready in a rush this morning." Her blush had swept like a crimson tide down her neck and cheeks. It made the spray of freckles on her nose more pronounced, something that he found a little distracting. 

Adrien tried - and failed - to not raise an eyebrow. "To visit the Louvre?"

"No. For work but... I got benched," she mumbled nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders.

"Your own parents fired you? Did you set fire to the bakery or something?" 

Marinette bit her lip. _Don't stare, Adrien_. "Even I'm not that clumsy," she said uncertainly. "They're just worried I'm overworking again."

"Again?" he replied with a frown. She cleared her throat, glancing away. 

"Y'know, every time we meet it feels like we're stuck in a spiral of increasingly unlikely coincidences," said Marinette with a smile. She was changing the subject, not subtly, but he was thankful for it. "You storm into the bakery to leave puddles on my floor, and now you're scaring me at the Louvre. What are the odds?"

"It's fate. We must be destined for each other," Adrien chuckled. Marinette blanched, then turned bright crimson. _Well done Agreste, you've managed to make someone embarrassed and alarmed in a single sentence. So much for being the suave CEO, huh?_ he chided himself _._ "Oh! Marinette, this is Annette Bergé. Annette, this is Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

Annette, who had been lingering behind him pretending to reread her notes, stepped forward and offered Marinette her hand. One thing that had first struck Adrien was that Annette had a particularly strong handshake. Marinette took it in her stride, only flinching slightly, which was impressive. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Dupain-Cheng."

"Likewise." Marinette's smile was clear and slightly self-conscious. She attempted to discreetly run her fingers through her fringe to flatten the bed-head frizz. Her hands found her purse strap, twisting her fingers into it awkwardly. "Well, I'd better move along. I lost track of time sat here."

"Would you like to walk around with us?" Annette asked. Marinette shook her head, offering yet another meek smile. 

"No. I can see you two are busy. I wouldn't want to discourtesy you, or distract you from your work," she replied, smiling politely. "And it's quite a substantial portfolio by the looks of it, so... I'll leave you to it. Ms Bergé, it was lovely to meet you."

Her rejection of Annette's invite somehow both impressed and disappointed him. The reason for that feeling was something he couldn't quite pinpoint. "Marinette, I'll... see you around?" he interjected, trailing off uncertainly. 

Hastily, she tucked one of the loose strands of hair behind her ear. For a moment, he thought she'd turn him down too. "I'd like that." With a brief wave, she began weaving through the crowd away from them. Adrien sucked in a breath, puffing out his cheeks as he exhaled. Shuffling through her portfolio, Annette offered him a print-out of her notes for the main design and a raised brow, an expression he found directed at him far too often in recent weeks. 

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"She's nice. Very pretty, if a little... painfully awkward," mused Annette. Adrien nodded inattentively, watching Marinette's receding back as she exited the room. The way she walked was timid, unassuming even. That was nothing like the overtly present girl he recalled from his school days. He knitted his brows.

"Marinette's... different. She's a brilliant designer. We still have the derby hat she made in high school as part of our hat collection."

"I see." Annette eyed him curiously, her expression a little too cunning for comfort, then smiled. "Well, once you're done gawking, can we get on with our project?"

Levelling Annette's gaze, he quelled the multitude of bashful retorts he thought about spluttering back and smiled through the timid blush colouring his cheeks. "Yes, let's continue."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel like I didn't finish this chapter properly, but as I'm overdue an update by three weeks and I've milked this chapter for all its worth and have no inspiration to write any more on it, here you have it. 
> 
> It is very short, but this was just a filler chapter. Until I reach 40 chapters (40!) I will try to keep up with longer chapters.
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	5. Insomnia

The following week was a fiery, incessant Hell of tasteless instant coffee and mountains of relentless paperwork. Starting a new project was no easy feat, and with only himself and Annette heading the project, the bulk of the work was left to them. 

The designers he'd brought in to help were just that. Designers. They were there for the designs, rather than the financial projections, business plans, cash flow forecasts and everything else that came with starting a new department. They were the ones fronting the project's ground floor, and as such were little use until the department was actually functioning.

Revitalising the skeletal remains of the Paris studio was a hurdle Adrien had completely forgotten. Since his father's incarceration, the original Paris department had been disbanded. Formerly Gabriel Agreste's head of operations as the company's CEO, it was determined improper to keep the studio running and had distributed the designers to the other teams scattered across the globe. The building itself wasn't sold, however, so Adrien had bitterly agreed to use it for the project. His only source of comfort was that once the new line was launched, he could have nothing to do it. 

What little time he had to spare between each lot of paperwork was spent fixing up the neglected offices. They were far past their prime, but the funding was intended for the project, not the studio. So the paint in the corner would be left to peel, but the equipment for production and designing was top of the range and, in some cases, state of the art. 

High-tech monitors littered several hardwood desks, all equipped with the latest editing and drawing software. Leather desk chairs slumped in front of each desk, awaiting their designer. Four large Pyrex display boards already featured each design, mood board, the inspirational art piece and the infinite pages of tri-coloured notes. They encircled the room like paper paragons. The designers, once the start-up details were taken care of, would never run short of design inspiration. 

It was drawing up to 7:00 pm when Adrien rolled his chair away from his desk in exasperation. In the twenty minutes since beginning his last stack of letters and miscellaneous paperwork, he'd had several more delivered. Watching the paperwork pile up made him anxious. _At this rate, we'll never get started_ , he thought miserably. Swivelling his chair, he dropped his head over the back of it and amused himself by observing the world in a gloriously nonsensical, inverted way.

Adrien Agreste _didn't_ fidget. Fidgeting had got him in trouble as a teenager with photographers, event organisers and - of course - his father. He'd learned not to do it at work. Instead, he had to succumb to boredom. Hanging his head upside-down to briefly quell the aforementioned boredom was one of the few ways he entertained himself. 

That was, at least, until he spun to face a rather fearsome-looking Annette Bergé, frowning down at him with two cups of coffee in hand. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Recuperating," he sighed, lifting his head. Gesturing noncommittally at the paper slowly consuming his desk, he sighed again. "I feel like we're fighting a losing battle here."

In reply, Annette placed one of the coffees on his desk sympathetically. "Your work had absorbed you when I asked how you liked your coffee, so I just got you a Frappe."

Murmuring his thanks, he ran a hand over his face tiredly. "I think I'll have to contact Haruhi Sato from the Tokyo Department. I think we need another pair of hands, and she was always the best at handling the beginning of new projects."

Annette sipped her coffee, hissing when it burned her tongue. "It's only another fortnight before we can officially start the project. We'll get done in time to start."

"Our deadline for the project is just after the New Year. That gives us - what? Five months? - to do what the other departments do in a year or more." 

"Yeah. The board of directors are being real hard-asses about it," said Annette bitterly. He tried not to grin. He really did. As CEO of the company, it wouldn't be proper. Nevertheless, Adrien was giggling. Disagreeing with Annette would be a lie because the board were - for lack of a better phrase - being hard-asses about the project. Really, he should have foreseen they'd all vote against such a risky project, even when the CEO was leading it. Hence, the project was given limited funding and an impossibly short duration. It was doomed to fail before it had even begun, and its failure would be on his head. 

Therefore, he was determined to succeed. 

Taking a timid sip of the substance defiling the name of coffee from his cup, Adrien grimaced. The 'coffee' resembled water more closely than it did actual coffee. They were both drinking it anyway. Otherwise, he strongly believed they'd both be camped underneath their desks crying and wrapped in blankets. They'd been working overtime for the past two hours, but with work piling up, they couldn't afford to leave any earlier. Annette had even had to arrange for her mother to look after her daughter, Fabienne, overnight when it became clear that they stood no chance of getting home on time. 

She slumped into her desk chair with a dramatic sigh, pulling one of the teetering paperwork piles towards her. "Okay, so... you take the business plans and I'll take finance?"

"No way. Business plans suck. I'll take finance."

"'Rock, paper, scissors' for it?" she asked dryly. "On shoot?"

"Rock-"

"Paper-"

"Scissors-"

"Shoot!" Annette threw down an open palm. Adrien had a fist. "Ha. You're on planning then, Agreste." 

Shooting her a dirty look and sprawling over his chair again, he whined, "But I just _did_ so much planning. If I plan any more, my brain will turn to mush and pour out of my ears."

"I have a two-year-old daughter, and she doesn't complain as much as you do in your overtime," said Annette with a crooked smile. It took a lot of willpower for him not to pout or break into a Chat worthy smile. Adrien Agreste was a clean cut, serious businessman. Apparently, Annette brought out the worst in him, especially when they were both trapped in hours of overtime. It didn't really matter. It was far too late for Annette Bergé to think he was a clean cut, serious businessman. Over the week since their first official meeting at the Louvre and the adjoining nights of several hours of overtime, she'd seen him fall asleep in a bowl of cereal, fall out of his chair, and trip over his own feet several times. 

Adrien considered her a fast friend and reliable business partner, and at least he had her word in confidence that she would only make fun of him about those incidents in private conversation. 

They settled back into the interminable pace of working that had consumed the entirety of the monotonous days. Despite the tediousness of it, the rhythm was a bittersweet change from the constant rush of plane-hopping the globe. On one hand, he wasn't constantly travelling and felt like his life wasn't dwindling away, wasted on work he wasn't invested in. On the other hand, he was trapped in the commitment of one project, with no achievable end in sight, in a city that he longed to escape. 

It was drawing up to 8:30 pm when Annette stood from her chair. Her usually exuberant demeanour had worn away over the week, and as their third hour of overtime began, it was clear she'd reached her limit for the day. Impatiently tugging her hair into a ponytail, she dropped her belongings into her handbag and grabbed her coat. "I'm heading home. I might be able to read Fabienne a bedtime story when I get home. My mother is terrible at bedtimes."

"What? No extravagant partying?"

Annette snorted. "Saturday night partying is a thing of the past," she said, grabbing one of the paperwork stacks and gesturing to herself. "I'm a responsible parent now."

Laughing as she vanished through the exit, he called, "Have a nice Sunday, Ann."

Adrien sighed. His lamp was the only light on in the studio. The overhead fluorescent lights were far too bright for that time of night, and the sun had long since sunk beneath the horizon. Wearily wiping his eyes, he grabbed his phone and made a hunger-biased decision.

 **You:** **_Hey Marinette, mind if I drop in at the bakery?_**

There was no immediate reply. He drummed his fingers on the desk, watching a fly as it buzzed against the windowpane. After the chance meeting at the Louvre, she'd messaged him to ensure she hadn't spoiled the meeting. Since then, occasional lighthearted texts to and from Marinette had kept him spirited through the tedious hours. _Ping_.

**Marinette: _I'll save you a croissant, Agreste_**

Flinging two stacks of paperwork and his laptop into his satchel, Adrien tried not to run to the bakery. Both he and Annette had worked through their last break, and that was evident in the hunger clutching his stomach. The promise of a croissant did little to quell his enthusiasm. 

When he arrived, the bakery lights were off. He frowned, checking his watch: 8:55 pm. The timetable by the door did state that the bakery closed at 7:00 pm on Saturdays. Just when he was considering either sending Marinette a text or going home, the door that led to the upper floors at the back of the bakery swung open. Light flooded the room. 

Marinette approached and slowly unlocked the door. He smiled gratefully as she ushered him inside, hearing the lock click again behind him. "Is this the start of a horror movie? Am I unwittingly walking to my death?" he asked, feigning shock. Marinette snorted.

"Definitely. I stuffed your croissant with poisonous spiders. No one will ever suspect me," she replied, wiggling her fingers at him. Pressing his hand to his heart in earnest, Adrien sighed.

"Alas, my untimely death will be worth the croissant." 

Marinette tiptoed back towards the door leading to the apartment, gesturing for him to be quiet. "My parents go to bed early so they get enough sleep for work tomorrow. We have to be quiet."

"Are you sure it's okay for me to be here, then?"

She turned to look at him with her hands on her hips and a brow poised. "We're not teenagers sneaking around. Even so, my parents will probably just be glad I have friends who visit." They made their way upstairs in silence. The living space was dimly lit by the yellow light of a lamp, and a plate of croissants took pride of place on the breakfast table. Upon closer inspection (and a rather over-eager mouthful), the croissants were still warm. Marinette stood by the counter, filtering coffee grounds with boiling water and allowing the coffee to steep through into a coffee pot. Once it had stopped filtering, she poured him a cup. 

"Sorry for just... y'know, arriving so impromptu," he said sheepishly, a mouthful of croissant slurring his voice. She shrugged.

"It's fine. I'm never usually doing anything at this time anyway."

"I take it you don't follow your parents' early sleep schedule?" 

Marinette sighed, cradling her own cup of coffee. "No. Sleep has decided it doesn't like me. I usually have to stay up," she mumbled nonchalantly. Adrien frowned, but quickly stopped himself, hoping she hadn't noticed. It had never really occurred to him how tired she looked; how she was always worn out and distracted. Perhaps her sleeplessness was the reason for that. "So why come here? Do you have a surreptitious addiction to baked goods?"

"How did you know?" Adrien gasped in mock horror, pressing his hand to his chest as if it pained him.

"You only come here for your pastry fix, then you vanish into the night. Scandalous, if you ask me," replied Marinette with a lucrative grin.

"I wish it was anything so exciting. I just thought I'd formally visit this time, rather than falling victim to another chance meeting." Marinette raised a brow. Adrien found himself mentally scolding himself again. _Really? Of all phrasing and you go with 'fall victim'? You're a lost cause Agreste. Now she thinks you don't like her._

"Oh yeah, I was planning on pinning a sign to my head proclaiming my location at all times, just so we couldn't be caught by surprise again." They laughed and sunk into silence for a few minutes, enjoying the solace of good company and brilliant coffee. The ambience of Paris met the stillness of the apartment with little resistance. The darkness of the room was also oddly comforting. It was a pleasant change from the harsh fluorescent lights of the studio and eased the slight ache in his head. Marinette absently chewed the side of her thumb. 

"Do you get bored of the same routine?" asked Adrien suddenly. He regretted his abruptness immediately. Marinette flinched and knocked over her coffee, hissing when it splashed onto her lap. Trying to rush to her aid, she assured him she was alright and patted herself dry with a damp cloth from beside the sink. Settling back into his chair, he clasped his hands.

"Why do you ask?" she said finally, tearing the end off a croissant and popping it into her mouth. Adrien twiddled his thumbs. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he'd asked, but he couldn't deflect her question. She watched him expectantly, chewing slowly.

He cleared his throat. "Well, I travel a lot. Nothing's ever the same then, but... now I'm stuck here in a project for the better part of half a year. I don't know. I was just wondering if-"

"It's not boring if it's something you enjoy doing," interrupted Marinette. Her expression was sincere, if a little sad. "Routine only gets boring if what you're doing didn't interest you to begin with."

He didn't reply, simply taking another long sip of coffee, mulling over what she said. The warmth of the mug was comforting, or maybe it was just the companionship. Being who he was with the lifestyle he had, Adrien was no stranger to long nights alone with too much work and not enough sleep. With Marinette, it was different. They mutually enjoyed each other's company, unburdening their heavy workload and exhaustion between them without the need for mindless small-talk. 

They sat like that for a while, both simply enjoying the other's company. Then the coffee ran out and the croissants mysteriously disappeared along with it (that's what he'd tell his dietician, anyway), and suddenly the clock on the wall read 11:00 pm. Despite the time and just how worn down he felt, Adrien didn't feel too tired. The coffee didn't bring energy, per-say, simply the innate desire to do something. He excused himself, and after saying their goodbyes, they headed their separate ways. 

 

* * *

 

Marinette was exhausted. Her days off were thing of the past, and she'd been pulling extra shifts all week. Despite her bone-tiredness, sleep never came. If she was lucky, she managed an hour or two before sleep abandoned her entirely. She grasped at it, taking what she could, but it was never enough. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence. Over the past year, sleep had been a luxury.

That night was no exception. 

It was drawing up to midnight. After going to bed soon after Adrien left, she'd been tossing and turning to no avail. Beside her on the pillow, Tikki yawned. "Marinette, can you not sleep again?"

"I don't know why I try, Tikki," grumbled Marinette, rubbing her eyes. Throwing the covers off, she sat up in exasperation. No matter what she did or how tired she got, she never felt comfortable. Climbing down the ladder from her bed, she contemplated wasting a few hours watching cat videos. It wasn't a thrilling self-proposition. Marinette had probably spent half of the last year stuck in a cat video spiral.

"Marinette, you can't keep going like this." Tikki perched on her shoulder, patting her cheek comfortingly. Marinette sighed but offered the kwami a grateful smile. "Maybe a run will help blow away the cobwebs," Tikki suggested. It wasn't a bad idea.

"That sounds... tiring. Tikki, spots on!" 

Moments later, the rooftops of Paris were slick beneath her feet. It hadn't rained, but the dew that settled in the night was enough to dampen the tiles. The air was cool and refreshing. It was a stark contrast to the late August heat during the day. 

Aimless as always, Marinette ran in no particular direction, simply hoping to tire herself out rather than reach a specific destination. It was a regular occurrence for her to seek comfort as Ladybug, and usually, she'd attempt some civil service while patrolling as Paris's paladin. Sometimes she broke up street fights or helped people involved in car accidents. Once or twice, she'd helped a pensioner carry their groceries or walked people home that were too drunk to safely make their own way back. Tonight, however, she was far too worn down to attempt any such action.

The sky above was relatively clear. There were never any stars - there was far too much light pollution to see them - but the moon was proudly centred in the inkiness. Occasionally, she'd sit and admire it from the precipice of a building or church spire. But it was as Tikki said, she needed to blow away the cobwebs. 

Feet drumming across rooftops, the Miraculous Ladybug hurled her yo-yo as far as she could before arching down into the street below. She didn't even wait to see if it had any purchase on where she'd thrown it before she leapt. It didn't matter. Her yo-yo had only let her down once, during the fight with Hawkmoth. _Stop thinking about it, Mari_ , she thought sternly. 

The streets whizzed by in a blur of streetlamps and the occasional car headlights. Paris was never truly still, not even early into the morning. Neither was she, apparently. The zip of her yo-yo was a sound she'd become acquainted with, and it was the only sound she could hear as the city rushed by. 

 _Zip_. _Click_. _Zip_. _Click_. 

She saw Notre Dame on the horizon, lit up by lights in the darkness. It was beautiful. Breathlessly coming to a stop on a nearby rooftop, Marinette stopped to admire the view. Her heart-rate and breathing were erratic from the strenuous movement, and she was beginning to tire.

Taking an enormous leap, Marinette swung towards Notre Dame. The height of the tower was daunting. Arching her back and pushing her legs into her swing, she launched herself around the tower and down onto the flying buttresses behind it. Climbing the buttress, she swung her yo-yo and caught it on the top of the bell tower. At the top, a slight wind clung about her, ruffling her hair affectionately. Marinette was glad she'd taken the time to tie it into a neat bun before leaving as opposed to letting it down. Otherwise, it'd be wafting all over the place, getting in the way and being irritating. 

From the top, the view of the surrounding city was breathtaking. There were thousands of lights like fireflies shining in the darkness, breaking through it as it consumed the streets. Any noise was diluted, filtered by the increasing wind and the lull of the night. She wasn't entirely sure what time it was. For all she cared, it could've been 4:00 am and it wouldn't have made a difference. Sleep was still hours away, and that meant she had the time to appreciate the city as the witching hour began. 

A nearby clock-tower rang out the half-hour segment of the Westminster Quarters. With a sigh, Marinette stood to head home. Judging from the chimes, she'd been out on her escapade as Ladybug for almost an hour and despite revelling in every minute of it, if she didn't attempt sleep soon then she'd be wiped out. It was already past midnight, and her alarm was set to for 5:00 am as usual. 

Turning to the ledge, she intended to launch the yo-yo with all her might. The prospect of going home wasn't particularly enthusing, but the jump from Notre Dame was always exhilarating. One foot left the edge. 

Then she saw him.

Acidic green cat eyes, luminescent in the darkness, locking onto her gaze from the opposing bell tower. Blond hair, shorter now than it had been a decade ago, was briefly disturbed as the wind picked up again. Chat Noir.

For a moment, Marinette thought she'd imagined him. Often, she'd hoped to catch a glimpse of him again, to no avail. Part of her wanted to swing past him, to escape into the night as if they were merely acquaintances passing on a crowded street, both too busy to stop and chat. It was an awful thought, and she scolded herself for even thinking it, but perhaps she still held onto some of the resentment from his abandonment. 

He didn't give her chance to leave. Taking a running leap, Chat landed in front of her in a crouch. When he stood, they locked eyes again, neither one breaking the silence. Marinette felt as if a weight was simultaneously lifted and placed upon her shoulders. It was conflicting. For a long time after his disappearance, she'd dreamt up dozens of increasingly dramatic scenarios in which she cursed and yelled at him for leaving without an explanation, truly enunciating every possible bottled emotion in a way she was incapable of actually doing.

When Chat vanished, she'd had to contemporaneously deal with the loss of her closest friend and the mundane lack of purpose that came from finally defeating their arch enemy. Dealing with it alone had been alienating and painfully lonely. For months after the final battle, she'd waited at their meeting place for him, longing for him to show up. He never did. Yet being face-to-face with her partner after so long, the overwhelming sense of relief washed away any remaining resentment. Paris had been so lonely without him.

Wordlessly, she stepped towards him, scanning every inch of his face, taking him in. She struggled to comprehend that for once he wasn't simply a photograph, lost in the archives of the Ladyblog. Chat didn't move. His expression was almost unreadable aside from his eyes, which were conflicted and slightly sad. She imagined that hers presented a similar cocktail of emotions. They were agonisingly unsure of each other. It had been too long. Each was alien from the other.

She reached for him, and his flinch didn't go unnoticed. For a moment, she hesitated, embarrassed and a little startled. Chat expected her to strike him. Did she look as tempestuous as she felt? The thought was unbearable. 

Rushing forwards, Marinette enveloped him in a hug. Her arms clutched around his shoulders tightly. Almost immediately, Chat reciprocated the embrace with as much enthusiasm. They hugged with such intensity and familiarity that it was as if they'd never been apart. For minutes they stood there, chest to chest, arms encircling each other, both unwilling to let go. Chat's hand cupped the back of her head and pressed her closer. She buried her face in his shoulder and he rested his chin atop her head. 

Despite the cold breeze and the weight in her chest, Marinette didn't feel the chill. Appreciative of his warmth, she squeezed her arms a fraction tighter. Could he hear her heartbeat? Her heart was pounding. Tears prickled her eyes. It was difficult to blink them away. "I've missed you. I've missed you so, so much."

"I've missed you too, Ladybug," he murmured softly. They finally broke apart, gazing at each other for a minute. She found herself drinking in every possible detail about him. The way one strand of hair brushed behind his ear. The way he now towered over her, whereas they used to vary only slightly in height. The way the dull light of the city glanced off his eyes. The five o'clock shadow dusting his jawline. The self-conscious, nervous look on his face. Everything about him seemed familiar, yet somehow so different. Then again, it had been ten years. Looking at Chat Noir was like meeting a stranger that she felt as if she'd known forever.

"I saw you on the news," she began apprehensively. "I... wasn't sure I'd find you." 

Chat smiled. It didn't even come close to being the famous Chat Noir grin he was renowned for. He didn't reply for a minute. Marinette started to wonder if it was all a figment of her imagination after all. Then he glanced down, clearing his throat. When he looked back up, Chat was crying. He unravelled, right there in front of her. The outline of his shoulders shook in the gloom. In his eyes, she saw a reflection of the pain she recognised in her own. The tears she'd blinked back now lingered in her eyes, and her heart was in her mouth with worry.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispered hoarsely. Marinette closed the short distance between them, consoling him once more. Chat stilled slightly at her touch. "I left. I never- I'm sorry."

Once again, she pulled away, resting her palms on his cheeks to draw his gaze. For a moment, his eyes remained stubbornly averted, shame tinging his cheeks. She swiped the tears rolling down his face with her thumbs. "Chaton, it happened a long time ago. There's nothing to forgive."

"There is," he replied quietly. "I didn't even say goodbye. You were all I had, and I lost you too."

The tears in her eyes finally fell, and she snorted a humourless laugh. "Look at this, you've got me crying now, minou _._ Ridiculous _,_ " she murmured, smiling softly at him. Chat caught her gaze at last and chuckled tearfully. "You never lost me, silly. I was mad and hurt and more than a little confused. But the past is the past. All that matters is that you're here now."

He broke away from her, drying his cheeks with the back of his hands. "I'm not staying long, m'lady."

"Do you need to head back home?" Once again, Marinette found herself confused.

"I mean... I'm not staying in Paris long. I hope to be gone in a few months," said Chat. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. She swilled the thought around her head for a moment, piecing together what he'd said. The realisation was like a bucket of ice water being upended over her head.  _He's leaving? He only just arrived_ , she thought numbly, _Paris must only be my prison_.

"Oh," she replied quietly. Approaching the ledge, she dropped down onto it and swung her legs above the oblivion below. She patted the space beside her, and Chat soon sat by her side. "We best make the most of it then."

"I'm surprised you're still you," he said. Upon receiving a rather confused and pointed look, Chat elaborated. "I mean, you're still Ladybug. I haven't been Chat Noir in a long time."

Marinette sighed. "Being Ladybug is an escape. In many ways, she's all I have. I miss being needed. I miss our youth."

"Are you saying you're old? You still don't look a day over five-thousand to me, m'lady," Chat said, throwing a wink in her direction. The gesture was out of place and made her giggle. Dewy eyed and blotchy-skinned from crying, Chat hardly seemed like he'd be in the mood to revert to his impish self. Yet he'd made the effort, and it made her smile helplessly. 

Marinette feigned offense, pressing her hand to her chest in mock indignation and dropping her mouth open. "Are you implying I'm old, Chat Noir?" she cried dramatically. 

Chat smirked. "Don't put words in my mouth. I might actually say them."

"You flatter me, minou." They shared a laugh. Falling into their routine of easy banter and jokes was seamless. They chatted for a while, catching up on all the positive things that had happened since they'd last seen each other. They were stories that were usually told over a cup of coffee in a café, or in someone's kitchen over a glass of wine. Lighthearted stories, nothing too personal. Marinette laughed so much that her chest cramped when Chat relayed a story about a rather awkward encounter with a coworker that involved copious amounts of Camembert and misplaced clothes. In turn, Chat almost fell off the ledge when she relayed a tale about one of her drunken nights out at university, which resulted in her getting black-out drunk and waking up twenty miles away from home in a water fountain, covered in birdseed.  

As much as she tried to maintain a positive tone to the conversation, the jokes subsided and were replaced by the tired mutterings of insomniacs in the early hours of the morning. She noticed that Chat looked tired, more so than she ever remembered him looking. "How've you been?" she asked, as silence threatened to overtake their conversation. It wasn't that she minded the silence. In many ways, silence was better than hours of pointless small-talk. But at that moment, it felt as if any break in conversation would result in Chat vanishing again. She wanted nothing more than for him to stay, even if he could only stay for a brief moment longer.

Chat sighed, savouring the question before replying. "I've been drinking instant coffee all day. I've been working 6 days a week, plus overtime. The day I have off I use to do paperwork. I have no family connections to speak of and I've been travelling the globe. I'm perpetually exhausted, and seeing you has been one of the few enjoyable things that have occurred this week."

She whistled, impressed. "That's quite a feat. Can you handle doing that much?"

"I've been handling it every day for seven years, buginette. If I can't handle it by now, I'm not worth my salt," replied Chat somewhat bitterly. Marinette scowled.

"Well, take a break every now and again. The last thing we need is the famed Chat Noir losing his gorgeous supermodel hair due to stress," she replied, ruffling his hair. He snorted, shooting her an odd look. She shrugged and flashed a lopsided grin. Apparently, she was more like Chat Noir than Chat was.

Taming his mussed hair, he asked, "What about you? Still a full-time hero?"

"Apparently so. Life hasn't exactly been treating me kindly, minou _,_ " she replied quietly. "I can't remember the last time I slept well. I have gotten nowhere in life. This past year... I- Never mind. I can't go into it." 

Marinette looked down at her hands. She was wringing them like a damp cloth. The movement was partly relieving. She'd lost the feeling in her fingers due to the growing chill in the air. The conversation fell abruptly silent. _Well done Mari, what a way to make it awkward! Couldn't you keep that to yourself?_

A black-gloved hand reached for hers, intertwining their fingers and settling their conjoined hands between them. His thumb traced circles along the back of her hand comfortingly. "You'll get through it, m'lady. I promise."

Settling her head on his shoulder, she sighed softly. "We both will, Chaton."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. Updates aren't coming as quickly as I'd like. It took me a week just to write Marinette's perspective (It's surprisingly difficult for me to write female perspectives, considering I used to only write female perspectives).
> 
> Thank you for being so patient and for sticking with my story. I've had a lot of shit going on with my family recently, so finding time, energy and inspiration to write has been difficult. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed. Feel free to comment your opinions!
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	6. Memories

_Running. Running. Running._

_His heart was racing. Each heartbeat marked another pounding of his feet on the concrete._

_My Lady. My Lady. My Lady._

_Ladybug was a few feet ahead. Inky tresses of hair trailed behind her as she walked._

_She was walking. Not running. Why wasn't he catching up?_

_No matter how much he ran, she was always an inch out of his reach. Why? Why? Why?_

_It shocked him just how cold he was. It wasn't a refreshing coolness. His limbs were ice. His body was stone. He was in so much pain. Frostbite solidified his limbs. Every jolt and thud of his feet brought on waves of searing agony. He was encased in ice. He couldn't breathe._

_No matter how far he ran, Ladybug was out of reach and they never moved forwards. They were stuck in the same spot. He ran, and ran, and ran. It didn't matter. The streetlamp flickering overhead continued to flicker overhead. The iciness continued to be icy. Ladybug continued to walk, but never once moved forwards._

_They were trapped._

_He could never escape. He could never save her._

_Once again, he watched a grotesque caricature of Hawkmoth - his father - appear before Ladybug. She continued walking, never moving forwards and never realising that her greatest foe was mere metres away. Once again, he tried to shout, lunge, leap towards her. He'd tried everything to get between them._

_Once again, she turned to face him._

_Ladybug looked as young as she had been ten years ago. The dream had never changed since that night._

_She smiled softly at him. He was crying and pleading, always useless to stop it._

_The blade sheared through her body, protruding from her chest like a crimson barb. He knew it was impossible. The suits were indestructible. Yet she died all the same._

_Ladybug crumpled, her beautiful bluebell eyes growing dim. She hit the ground with a sickening crack. Once again, he could do nothing but watch her die. Once again, Hawkmoth lunged at him, and the world fell into darkness._

 

* * *

 

Gasping for air, Adrien jolted upright. The cotton sheets clung to the sheen of cold sweat slicking his skin, twisting around his body like ropes. Breathless, he rested a hand on his chest, feeling the drumming of his heart beneath the surface. Soft sunlight filtered between the slats of the blinds, soothing his anxiety. The rising panic threatening to attack subsided slowly. It was minutes before he felt calm.

Adrien had suffered through the same dream countless times since their final battle with Hawkmoth. Each time, he'd been chasing Ladybug, hoping to save her. Each time, he was encased in ice, a prisoner in his own body. Each time, he watched her die at the hands of his father.

Despite the recurrence of the torment, it had never got easier to endure. 

The absence of Plagg's obnoxiously loud snoring alerted Adrien to the kwami's disappearance. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Adrien blearily squinted at his surroundings. He patted around his mattress in an attempt to locate his phone. He must've knocked it onto the floor. Sure enough, it had fallen under his bed, and after retrieving it, he checked the time. 6:48 am. 

His alarm was set for 7:15 am, so he didn't consider his early start too much of a loss. Groaning, Adrien rolled out of bed and headed into the en-suite.

The sound of his shriek echoed through the house. 

Plagg was floating in the sink, his feline face painted white with some sort of lotion. Adrien's mouth dropped open. The kwami opened his eyes slowly. "Can't I get away from your screaming?" he grumbled.

"What on _earth_ are you doing?"

"Relaxing. Camembert is an extraordinary moisturiser," replied Plagg, licking at the Camembert that covered his face. Adrien was at a loss for words and simply gawked at the kwami for a moment. "You were having that nightmare again. I deserve this, considering you kept me up half the night."

"We've been friends for over a decade. How did I not know you did this?" spluttered Adrien, gesturing wildly in Plagg's direction. The kwami raised his head slightly from the water, giving him a pointed look. 

"You've been busy," Plagg said drily. "Besides, it's not like I do it when you're around."

"I was in the next room."

"You were sleeping, and all your squawking meant I wasn't. I'm allowed to treat myself." 

"You literally did nothing yesterday to warrant a morning facial," Adrien said with a snort. His companion flicked water at him bitterly, wiping the remaining cheese off his face and cleaning his paws.

"Excuse me? Your three-hour-long escapade with Ladybug?" hissed Plagg. Oh. The nightmare had driven any recollection of the night before from his mind. But recalling it brought a sensation that oddly reminded him of being wrapped in a warm, fluffy blanket. It was comforting.

After so many years apart, spending time with Ladybug hadn't changed. It was as if they'd never been separated. Adrien couldn't explain how thankful he was that they'd run into each other. Initially, he'd considered avoiding her. He'd been so worried about how she'd react to seeing him again after his abrupt disappearance. Admittedly, he'd expected her to be furious. It wouldn't have surprised him. He deserved as much. But she hadn't cared, and Adrien was so grateful that she continued to be the friend she'd always been. Even after almost a decade, Ladybug was true to character. 

Some of what she'd said had resonated with him. It seemed they'd both received the short end of the stick. Then again, some of it had also concerned him. Something about her seemed... sad. He wondered what had happened to her, but he knew that he couldn't start asking questions the moment he happened to drop into her life again. Adrien also recalled her unrelenting desire to keep their identities secret. 

No. Whatever it was, it was her business. As Chat, he'd help her if she asked for it. She deserved that.

Evicting Plagg from the bathroom, Adrien rinsed away the clinging wisps of restless sleep in the shower. The water kept running from hot to cold, so the novelty of the cosiness beneath the water quickly wore off. Pulling on a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt was enough for the day. It was Sunday. Hence, it was his day off. Adrien was free to stay at home and do paperwork, rather than do it in the office. Either way, he was technically working. The benefit of doing it at home on his day off meant that he technically had less work to do on Monday, and he didn't necessarily need to wear pants.

Plagg was playing foosball by himself again. Smirking, Adrien passed him and opened the blinds. The waking sun flooded the room, rousing the monochrome colours of his furnishings and dressing them in yellow light. Suddenly, his room felt more familiar and less cold. Then again, it had never been an overly cosy place. 

While he'd been showering, someone had left a cup of coffee, a bowl of fresh fruit with yoghurt, and a plate of buttered baguette tartines on the coffee table. A glass of orange juice and a platter of Camembert also sat a little further apart from the rest. It hadn't quite been a fortnight since his arrival in Paris yet the staff had already grown accustomed to his routine. That included Plagg's usual request for Camembert around-the-clock. Adrien was 100% certain that the staff thought he had a cheese addiction. The person who brought his food had taken it upon herself to separate the cheese and the orange juice from the rest of the breakfast every morning to not-so-subtly imply that the Camembert was meant to be saved for a snack later on, not that Plagg ever cared. Even Nathalie had spoken to him in private regarding his obscene cheese orders. 

Plagg seemed far too entertained by the foosball. It was then that Adrien realised that the kwami was using some of the cheese in the place of a ping-pong ball. He observed. Plagg spent an incredulously long time battering the cheese with a row of players until it skittered through the goal, leaving the kwami to dive at the goal so he could catch it. The foosball table was covered in cheesy scuff marks. 

"Plagg, you're gross."

"It's called being inventive. You should be grateful. This is an Olympic sport in the making," replied the kwami, enthralled in trying to smack another chunk of Camembert towards the goal. It had been over a decade, and Adrien's hatred of that particular cheese had only grown. Another one of Plagg's rather unusual and disgusting eating habits would do little to improve that.

"If you ever invent an actual Olympic sport, I'd eat my own hand," Adrien said with a questionably quirked brow. Plagg met his gaze with narrowed eyes. Sometimes, he wondered what went through the kwami's head. Part of him was very, very glad he didn't know.

"Then I'd better get started. Seeing you eat your hand sounds entertaining." Yeah, he was very glad he didn't know what went through Plagg's head.

Deciding it was best to ignore the kwami until he'd overcome his morning grumpiness, Adrien decided against breakfast and started working on the business plans that Annette had burdened him with. It was tedious. Although in his line of work and the position he was in, almost all of Adrien's work revolved around paperwork. It wasn't unfamiliar territory. But business plans? They were the most boring things he did at work. Ever.

Really, they only needed one final business plan. The problem? The project was still in development, and with no financial projections for the cost of production and distribution or a cash-flow forecast in sight, it was almost impossible to put together a feasible plan. Consequently, he was producing plans for as many potential outcomes as possible, trying to perfect each one down to the precise details.

Hours later and the unfinished pile had significantly diminished. It was a thankless task, considering there were probably more waiting on his desk in the office, but Adrien earned a certain degree of self-respect for doing them without gouging out his eyeballs due to sheer boredom.

It was sometime after lunch at that point, and he decided enough was enough. Dumping the remaining paperwork back into his satchel unceremoniously, Adrien stood and stretched, releasing the knots in his muscles. 

The weather had abstained from raining, but the clotted grey clouds smothering the sun did little to tempt him outside. While travelling, his work always kept him ahead of the seasons. He never stayed long enough to see the seasons change, and had been perpetually stuck in summer for at least two years. His work mainly took him to warm, sometimes tropical, countries. 

Seeing the change was refreshing. Personally, Adrien preferred colder weather. It meant wrapping up warm in scarves and jumpers, securing your hands around a hot drink when the chill started to bite your fingers. It was comforting and cosy. 

The wind howled past his window, a tremendous billow that swept leaves from the trees behind the house. Startled, he drew back from the window. He'd always hated the way wind howled and wailed. It brought back memories. It was cold-

_It was cold. So cold his breath fogged the air in front of him. Ladybug ran, feet ahead of him, her yo-yo spinning. This was it. This was it. He wanted to stop her, to tell her to slow down. They didn't need to rush. He was already waiting._

_He wanted to grab her shoulder. He wanted to look into her eyes as he told her he loved her. He wanted to make cat-astrophic cat puns that made her giggle. He wanted to sit on the bell tower of Notre Dame together, looking down at the city as they often did._

_They were silly little wants, but Chat knew why. They were running at him. At Hawkmoth. Chat wanted to stop her, to do those things, because this was it. The final battle._

_Final._

_The word seemed to reverberate in his ears. Final. The end. This was it. Final had such strong implications. Final meant that either they'd win or they'd lose. A fifty-fifty chance. Hawkmoth's victory came with disastrous consequences. Their victory... what did that hold?_

_Chat wanted to stop her. He loved her. And as they ran towards danger, towards the final, he couldn't help the fear that threatened to paralyse him. Ladybug could die. Chat Noir could die, and if Ladybug died, he would rather die too. Hawkmoth could win, or he could die._

_They were running towards a precipice, and neither knew if they'd survive the fall. The wind picked up, howling and screaming as it whistled over the rooftops. It flung itself at them, almost forcing their feet from under them and threatening to plunge them from the roofs to the concrete waiting far below. It whipped at his hair. It was cold. So cold._

"Adrien?" _A strange voice cut through the wind, not quite real. Panic rose in his throat. He knew that voice. He wanted it to stop shouting. Thankfully, Ladybug didn't seem to notice._ She can't know my identity _, he thought determinedly._ "Adrien?" _Chat was still running, hot on the heels of Ladybug, lost in maybes and what-ifs. They were running towards the Eiffel Tower. Its shadow loomed over them, growing and growing as they moved swiftly closer._   "Adrien!" Plagg shouted. 

Adrien jumped. Plagg hovered in front of him, a concerned look on his face. "Adrien, are you okay? You spaced out for a while," asked the kwami with a frown. 

"I- Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry."

Plagg looked unconvinced but didn't press the matter. Rubbing his eyes, Adrien tried to avert his thoughts. The past haunted him, it was true. Often, Adrien was trapped there, reliving those minutes over and over again. That was his burden. It was one that he refused to share with Plagg. The kwami had done a lot for him, but there was no need for him to dwell on the past too. 

His thoughts skipped back to his conversation with Ladybug. It had been so long since he'd seen her and a lot had changed. She seemed less happy somehow, not quite the feisty, confident Ladybug she'd been ten years ago. It would be unfair to expect her to be the same. Adrien hadn't even considered until that point that Ladybug may have been affected just as much as he was after the final battle. 

Their conversation had been painfully honest. When they were teenagers, he would have been concerned about revealing too many personal details. Ladybug had always made it clear that they had to keep their secret identities to themselves. But now, with no imminent enemy threat hanging over their heads, that worry seemed irrelevant. With no great enemy, their civilian selves were hardly at risk of being put in danger. Besides, it's not like they were as close as they were before, and it seemed unlikely that they knew each other personally. Paris was a humongous city with an equally large population. Unless he knew every civilian in Paris, then it was doubtful the two heroes had met in person. 

Adrien still wanted Chat Noir to be somewhat separate from him though. Chat was a persona, an escape. If anyone found out who he was, he dreaded to think what would happen. He would lose his one true form of escapism. God, if the press got hold of that information they'd have a field day, and all the credibility he'd worked so hard to build would crumble away during the scandal. Mentally chastising himself, Adrien vowed to be a bit more tight-lipped around his Lady from then on.

 _No more chin-wagging_ , as his mother would say. She had been fond of that expression. When he went to photo shoots, she'd tell him off for talking too much instead of sitting still and posing. Then she'd treat him to ice-cream and they'd sit and watch _Finding Nemo_ together. That had been their favourite film. They even did the turtle handshake. 

He missed her so much. Not a word had been heard from his mother in over twelve years, and the investigations into her disappearance and her whereabouts had been fruitless. The trail had gone cold a long time ago. Still, the ache in his chest continued to grow. He had no consolation or closure. His mother had simply vanished, never to even say goodbye. The pain at her absence weighed on him every day. 

Adrien knew he was spiralling. That was one of the reasons he'd become such a workaholic over the years. Having time to himself left him vulnerable to his own thoughts, and they'd drag him to the depths of his own mind if he allowed them, consuming him. It gave him time to think about things he'd rather avoid.

Like his father.

Gabriel Agreste had spent much of his incarceration in the psych ward. It had taken him a mere three months to have a huge mental breakdown, and according to the care team assigned to him, his father had been practically catatonic ever since. Adrien was taking their word for it. He would quite happily live out the rest of his days without seeing Gabriel Agreste ever again. Ever since that day, he'd loathed his father, and resented any association to him.

Of course, his abhorrence of Paris stemmed from his father. Why else would he detest such a beautiful city? 

Adrien's lip curled, disgusted as a familiar memory rose to the surface. It was another memory of the battle. Unlike the remainder of his memories from that fateful day, this memory was almost painfully sharp but never all-consuming. It didn't ensnare him in his own past. The others had a blurry quality, like he was re-watching them through an unfocused fish-eye lens. 

It was the memory of the battle drawing to a close. Those final stricken moments as it became unclear who was winning.

_For a moment, Chat had the upper hand. Hawkmoth teetered on the edge of an industrial walkway in a warehouse. The plan had been that Chat would distract their enemy, while Ladybug attacked from behind in an attempt to remove the butterfly Miraculous pinned at his throat. Despite planning Hawkmoth's defeat since first fighting an akuma, every carefully fabricated idea dissipated in the heat of battle. Hawkmoth always managed to outmanoeuvre them, twisting the course of the battle so that he had the upper hand._

_That moment was no different._

_Hawkmoth, instead of defending himself, lunged at Ladybug as she launched herself at him. The thud of impact echoed through the vacant warehouse; a sickening snap that rebounded off the brick walls._

_Chat had been inches away from Hawkmoth when it happened. His job had been to distract, but the Miraculous was close enough to snatch. The end of the battle had been at his fingertips. Yet, he still missed it._

_Ladybug's momentum knocked Hawkmoth from his feet. The force of the collision crumpled the metal fence that encased the walkway. With nothing to stop them, their entwined bodies crumpled and toppled to the ground. Her scream pierced the air._

That's where things got a bit hazy. Adrien couldn't remember what happened afterwards, or how he came to be on the ground floor beside them. It was a blank spot in his memory.

But he did remember crouching beside them, his legs ablaze with agony. _Ladybug, sprawled on the concrete, stirring with a pained groan. Blood pooled from her ear. Her earring was missing. Feeling the panic as if it were fresh in his heart, the memory of scurrying towards her, screaming her name, was as painful as ever._

_Ladybug rolled onto her back, gasping for breath. However she'd landed, it had hurt her. The suffering was a grotesque display playing on her features. "His... Miraculous. G- Get it!" she'd urged, voice ragged._

_He glanced at Hawkmoth, lying a metre away, writhing in pain but laughing. Manic peals of laughter rang from blood-corrupted lungs, frothing from his lips and staining his teeth crimson. In his enclosed fist, a bloody earring was clutched in his palm. Chat lurched towards him, an unfamiliar snarl on his lips. Fury coiled in his muscles like a serpent. He'd wanted nothing more than to hurt Hawkmoth for everything he'd done._ It was a bitter, terrible feeling, one that Adrien dreaded ever feeling again. Adrien Agreste refused to become a monster. He refused to be his father.  

_Grabbing the pin from Hawkmoth's throat, Chat snatched the Miraculous from their enemy, hurling it away from them. It skittered across the concrete, too far to be of use to the injured villain. Preparing to dash back towards Ladybug, who still lay flat on her back heaving for breath, his muscles coiled in readiness. Then Hawkmoth's guise fell away.  
_

_And the face of Gabriel Agreste stared back at him.  
_

_His father leered at him, coughing blood, no recognition on his face. Chat's world turned grey, his muscles weak._ He remembered feeling so raw. Exposed. As if the unmasking of Hawkmoth - his father - had somehow unmasked him too. Adrien forced himself from his recollection, locking the memory away for another day. 

 Though he'd relived it countless times, nothing about it ever changed. Every detail stayed the same, perfect down to the nanosecond. Revisiting it every now and again wouldn't change it, Adrien knew that, but he'd always hoped that when remembering it that the outcome would be different. That Ladybug wouldn't be sprawled across the floor, in pain and injured. That when the mask fell away, it wasn't Gabriel Agreste behind the mask. That Hawkmoth was another faceless stranger. 

A sour taste stung his throat. 

"Plagg?" His voice was unexpectedly hoarse. The kwami looked up from his third wheel of Camembert with a disinterested grunt. "Should I visit-?"

"No." Plagg went back to his Camembert. Adrien breathed a sigh of relief and steeled his resolve.

His father would rot for what he did.

And Adrien would let him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise it's been like 3 weeks since I updated (you guys must be used to it at this point) so I sincerely apologise. I've just restarted school (Sixth Form, wooo) and I have 3x as much work as last year. So I don't promise quicker updates. I do promise that the story will continue to be updated, but you will have to be patient (sorry).
> 
> Hold onto your hats, guys, because I have 34 chapters to go.
> 
> Anywho, what are your theories about what's going to happen in the story? I'd love to hear them!
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	7. Reflections

After a long morning, fuelled by the dregs of a 5 o'clock coffee and the adrenaline of the early morning rush hour, Marinette threw her apron onto a hook by the door with a breath of relief. 

She adored Sundays. 

They weren't dissimilar to the rest of the week, aside from the early closing. On Sundays, the city seemed to be less busy. Many offices closed for the day, so the demand for sweet treats diminished. Locals came in for fresh bread and pastry in the morning, but it was always quiet afterwards. Financially, it wasn't viable for the bakery to be open for a full day so she and her parents accepted a half-day's work before shutting up shop.

The weather wasn't particularly wonderful, so Marinette's usual plan of taking a walk around the park or going for a jog was dashed.  Fog consumed the city. It swirled through the streets, resting chilly palms on the windows and leaving cool drops of condensation in its wake. The unsaturated silhouettes of pedestrians braving the bleak, monochrome streets dipped in and out of sight. Cars trundling past, startlingly dark in the haze, were immediately lost in the cloud. 

Heaving a sigh, Marinette rested her hands on her hips, deliberating what to do. 

That was a common dilemma on Sunday afternoons. Even if she had been able to take a walk somewhere, that usually only consumed an hour at best. The list of things to do paled in comparison to the free hours that loomed before her.

She puffed out her cheeks, deciding that her room was a good place to find something to do. 

Her assumption was correct. 

If her room hadn't been messy the day before, then it certainly was now. The unmade bed and its obscenely naked mattress glared at her. The monstrous pile of discarded clothes and dirty laundry reared its ugly head from behind the chaise. The snowballs and flurries of paper lay dejectedly across the carpet. Dust filmed every surface in sight. 

"It's a good job your maman doesn't come up here anymore," said Tikki, her expression conveying understandable disgust. "She'd be very-"

"Disappointed?"

"... Yes?"

Wrinkling her nose at the stale smell permeating the air, Marinette nodded. "I wouldn't hold it against her."

Tikki dusted off a section of the desk and perched herself on the edge. It was an oddly human gesture; a way of behaving that Tikki never usually adhered to. She watched Marinette with intense dark eyes. 

It was unnerving when Tikki pinned her with that gaze. Marinette found that it was increasingly directed at her, and it never failed to make her squirm. When Tikki was scrutinising something, then it needed sorting out. 

Under the influence of the kwami, Marinette spent a great portion of the afternoon cleaning. Her curtains were drawn and flung open, allowing fresh air to circulate the room. The mountain of laundry, including bedsheets and blankets, was indiscreetly shuffled downstairs into the washing machine. Luckily, her mother had gone shopping, so the only disappointed look she received was from her father (who was considerably less intimidating). 

The vacuum had to be emptied twice before the floor was properly clean. Two cans of furniture polish were meticulously applied to the wooden beams and various furnishings once they'd been dusted thoroughly. 

Collapsing into her desk chair, Marinette huffed. Labouring away for hours had left her room in some semblance of order and cleanliness. At last, she had time to breathe. 

With many hours still looming ahead and no hobbies to otherwise occupy her, Marinette spun in her desk chair to face the computer monitor. She'd been meaning to check her e-mails for weeks but had never got around to it. 

 **Inbox:** _**582 unopened e-mails** _

_**52 Junk Mail**_  

Recently, the process of "sorting through her e-mail" involved deleting all her e-mails without opening them. It always seemed too much effort to go through them after a long day. But productivity had apparently consumed her, and Marinette found herself scouring through them all, sorting them into various folders or deleting them altogether. 

This led to the perusing of her entire desk, boxes and all, which she had completely neglected while cleaning. It fascinated her just how much clutter she'd held on to over the years. Tikki was particularly enthralled by a CD gathering dust in one of the boxes. 

"I remember that." Marinette wrinkled her nose at the sight of it.

"I'm glad you designed a second CD cover," giggled Tikki, happily dropping the CD into the rubbish bin beside the desk. 

Marinette buried her face in her hands, slightly embarrassed. "How could I have even thought about giving it to Jagged Stone? It was terrible!" 

Nodding in agreement, Tikki giggled again, turning her attention back to the box and pulling various things out. In a similar fashion, Marinette began searching through another. Sweeping an unnecessarily large bundle of cast-off fabric scraps into the bin, she seized the black box beneath it. 

Curious, she slipped off the lid. A photo album, one of the many she'd started and forgotten about over the years, was inside. It was intriguing. The cover was a soft pastel blue, embossed with a pleasant silver brocade. The inside was lined with textured silver paper to match the outer cover. Pretty, but simple. 

Alya always used to make fun of her for her obsession with collecting pretty stationary. Looking back, she wasn't surprised. Here she was, admiring an album's cover because it happened to look nice. Marinette smiled to herself. 

The album's design had the kind of subtle elegance that brought to mind a design; a pretty summer dress or evening gown in chiffon, using pastel-

 _Gone_.

As quickly as it came, the idea vanished. 

It wasn't an unusual occurrence. Just as inspiration was at her fingertips, it ran off again. She was, at that point, used to it and didn't mourn the loss of a brilliant idea for too long. Sighing, Marinette began flicking through the pages. 

The pictures inside, she recalled, were of her university days. Marinette had attended  _L'École de la Cambre_ in Brussels, Belgium. It was an elite Arts university, specialising in the Arts and architecture. She'd started her fashion design course at eighteen, and had graduated at twenty-three with an outstanding degree and all of her prospects lined up in order. Five blissful, exciting years documented in blurry, dark photographs. The majority of them were taken in various nightclubs, her face alongside various acquaintances immobilised forever in multicoloured strobe lighting, drinks in hand. Some were selfies taken in front of various Belgian tourist attractions. Others were the simple photos of the landscape. People had never been important in those particular photos. 

Marinette had loved Brussels, but it had never felt like home. That's why she seized the opportunity to go to Cannes to begin an apprenticeship with the world-renowned fashion label, _Vuitton_. Cannes, for the brief time she was there, hadn't felt like home either but the promise of distance and freedom was too appealing to even consider turning it down. 

For at least an hour, Marinette was consumed in the pages, poring over ever image, attempting to recall the exact circumstances of each one. Some photos she couldn't remember at all, the memories swept away by the haziness of hectic partying and binge drinking. If only her social life had stood the test of time. Perhaps she'd seem a little less self-pitying. 

The photo album was drawing to a close. Repetitious pages of black, blurry photos gave way to softer ones, nothing like any of the other photos. In these photos, nothing was dark or blurry. They were concise, detailed pictures, taken by a hand more skilled for photography than her own. They were all photos of her.

There was a gleeful twenty-three-year-old Marinette, grinning from where she sat on top of a cardboard box, packing her dorm-room things in preparation for graduation. Her hair was longer, sweeping over her shoulders in a messy braid, and the beam on her face was one that she could no longer summon. 

Another. Marinette's face, mouth open in surprise, balloons falling around her. The banner pinned to the wall wrote: "Happy 24th Birthday Mari!"

Another. 

Another. Memories that Marinette cherished, almost forgotten in the bottom of a box, were refreshed. The photos were somewhat distant, as if it were someone else trapped in those photographs and not her. Tikki had stopped rustling through a box of papers and was now hovering over her shoulder, staring at the album just as intently.

"I remember that too," said the kwami softly. It was drawing to the end of the album. It was a photograph of Marinette outside a real estate office, bearing in her hands a small file of yellow forms with a huge, unrestricted grin on her face. Again, her eyes were drawn to her hair, tucked into two neat buns. 

"It was the day I confirmed my deposit on the apartment," replied Marinette quietly. How had she forgotten about this album? 

Sighing, Tikki said, "You were so happy."

Neglecting to reply, Marinette turned the page.

The final page.

She found herself breathless. It was a beautiful photograph, all things considered. 

It was the holiday to Rome they'd taken together. Together. Even the thought of the word left a sour taste in her mouth. 

Sunlight kissed the soft peaks of the waves, encapsulating the light that shimmered on the iridescent white surf, the curls of the waves trotting across the surface like kelpies. The sky was a clear, cerulean blue. Clouds spotted the horizon, far-off ethereal mists that looked like they'd been intricately painted there by a delicate, precise hand. Shells littered the expanses of white sand that photograph-Marinette dug furrows in with her toes. 

Sunburn had tinged him almost entirely pink and Marinette herself was speckled with innumerable freckles. Their hands were clasped between them. Marinette's free hand was clasping her wide-brim sunhat to her head, a ring clearly gleaming on her ring finger. The couple were laughing in a way that seemed contagious even through the void of a photograph. 

The holiday took place a few weeks after her twenty-fourth birthday and a few months before their official move to Cannes together. It had been the holiday when he'd proposed. Throughout the week, he'd made multiple failed attempts: a botched dinner, a disastrous bicycle tour, an unfortunate wine tasting (that resulted in a ruined blouse and a lot of embarrassment on his part) and a misplaced ring. 

To her, it hadn't mattered.

It was on the beach when she'd managed to coax him past his overwhelming nerves and make a successful attempt at last. He'd still dropped the bloody ring in the sea, but they managed to fish it from the water before it was lost to the tides. 

She'd found his nervousness endearing and they'd eventually laughed and blushed their way through it.  Back then, the future seemed so certain. They had each other and neither had any intention of changing that. 

The soft smile that had unintentionally found its way onto Marinette's face faded. Staring at the photo, at the intense turquoise eyes that seemed to pierce her from within it, everything rushed back at once. The hurt. The resentment. The mystification at _why_. Why did he leave?

She only acknowledged the tears trailing down her cheeks when they dripped onto the album, then hastily scrubbed them away with the heel of her palm. Her fingers found the ends of her hair and toyed with it. Conflicting feelings spiralled in her head, an unwelcome buzz that made her ears ring. It travelled like an itch through her body. 

Attempting to still her fingers was pointless. The ringing grew louder and louder, less of a buzz and more the threatening whirr of a hornet's nest. The teal eyes still watched her, betraying no answers, no secrets.

Resentment. Fury. They boiled her blood, infecting her with agony and hatred, forcing the buzzing to grow even louder. 

Tikki was saying her name. It was muffled, like speaking underwater. 

His face, his infuriatingly happy face with its teal eyes and soft mouth and sharp nose, was a bitter sight through tear-blurred eyes. His smile seemed sardonic, their happiness false.  The longer Marinette was glued to the photo, the more the pain built. 

It swelled, rising like a tide from her toes to her head, setting her body ablaze. The unseen wave rose, up - up - up, crested and crashed down, decimating her. Slamming the album shut, she threw it back into the box, unable to restrain herself, and booted it as hard as she could across the floor. Pain flared up the inside of her foot. 

But the potency of her hurt was addictive. 

The buzzing was cacophonous now, drowning out all other sounds. She had to do _something_. Thudding to the floor, she pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face into them. The burn in her fingers meant it was impossible to keep them still. They twisted into her hair, pulling and twisting. The cocktail of emotions that constricted her chest overpowered all other senses. 

It poured out of her as messy sobs. The wailing hysterics were only interrupted by the need to draw breath. To her ears, the sounds were primal. A dull ache began to replace the fluid emotion in her chest, an emptiness that was at once frightening and welcoming in its promise of calm. Even after almost a year alone, the pain was still fresh. It festered like an old wound, never quite healing. It made the world around her diminish to almost nothing, leaving only the desolation that threatened to break whatever was left of her. 

A short rapping noise permeated the buzz. Tikki squeaked and flung herself behind the computer monitor. The ache still clutched at Marinette's chest, and she gave a pained moan as she unfurled herself. "Marinette, can I come in?" Her mother. 

"Give me a sec." Frowning at how thick her voice sounded, she attempted to dry her face and running nose on her sleeve. Despite her attempts, her cheeks were still damp, growing stiff as they dried, and Marinette knew that she looked like a mess. Her hair hung in unkempt tufts around her face, and her eyes were probably red and puffy. There was no way to conceal it.  The emptiness now filling her chest seemed like it had flushed out her system, effectively silencing the buzzing in her head. Whereas mere moments before Marinette felt everything simultaneously, now she felt nothing at all. Clearing her throat, she called, "Come in."

The trapdoor opened slowly, Sabine's silver eyes peering through the gap before letting it open entirely. Upon seeing Marinette, still half-curled on the floor, Sabine's face turned sad, and she rushed across the room to kneel at her daughter's side. Without a word, her mother enveloped her in a soft embrace. 

The presence of her mother suppressed the emptiness tolerably, and after a number of minutes, Marinette compelled herself to finally hug her mother back. The back of her throat was claggy and sore, as if tears were trapped there but couldn't escape. Sabine rubbed comforting circles on her back. "I'm sorry," whispered Marinette.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Marinette truly appreciated her mother in that moment. She didn't belittle her emotions or tell her everything was fine. Instead, she said, "You'll get through this, sweetheart. It won't happen overnight, but I'll be here for you until you do."

Sabine pulled away, taking her daughter's face in her hands and brushing her thumbs across Marinette's cheeks, wiping away the few lingering tears. Offering a soft smile, Sabine stood Marinette up and held her by the shoulders. "How about dinner? I'll make Gong Bao chicken. Your favourite."

"With sticky rice?" mumbled Marinette, scrubbing her eyes again. They still felt irritated and damp. _God_ , she thought, _I must look a mess_.

Sabine smiled slightly dolefully. "And sticky rice. Your father's also dug out a bottle of wine that Uncle Wang sent for my birthday." 

Mumbling her thanks, they began to head downstairs. "Maman," began Marinette quietly. Trying to assert some confidence into her voice, she cleared her throat. "I need a change."

"A change?" Her mother's features dipped into a brief, bemused frown. Again, Marinette found her fingers dancing to the ends of her hair, still mussed from where she'd clutched it. Twisting her fingers around the ends of her hair was a method of self-comfort she'd had since she was very young. Looking back, it made her feel childish and naive. 

"Can... can you cut my hair?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Marinette. I'm sorry I'm doing this to you, my sweetpea. 
> 
> Anywho, I'm aware it's been over a month since my last update. I apologise. I've had a lot of stuff going on in my personal life that has been difficult to deal with, along with starting at Sixth Form. It's also really hard to write Marinette's perspective (I think I've made her very out of character from the show due to the storyline I have planned. She's so upbeat and here she's just... not). 
> 
> Also: SEASON 2 IS FINALLY HERE!!
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	8. New Beginnings

Ground damp with the lingering memories of the morning dew and last night's rain, the evening commute home was chilly and refreshing. The soft light of the sunset, yellow and warm, was trapped in the puddles that littered the pavement. They looked like golden mirrors or portals to another dimension. It was surreal. 

Adrien was glad he'd finished up work early enough to leave before the sun went down. He'd been in at the office since five o'clock that morning after a sleep-deprived night, and as such had finished the majority of the day's paperwork early. In the late afternoon, Adrien had clocked out of work and left Annette to her own devices for the evening. 

As usual, the immense weight of his laptop bag (stuffed with as much of the work in need of revision as possible) slung over his shoulder and his stomach clawed at his insides, begging for any kind of sustenance. Plagg had also been grumbling quietly since noon, complaining of slow starvation and neglect. Adrien rolled his eyes as the kwami moaned again from the recesses of his blazer pocket.

"Hush, you. I promise there's a steaming Camembert waiting at home for you." Plagg's response was unintelligible. "Can't hear you."

The kwami stuck his head out of the pocket, eyes narrowed in disdain. "Only _one_? I deserve a whole batch for putting up with your pacing all night and your neglect all day!" 

Cracking a grin, Adrien remarked, "Everything's a melodrama with you."

"At least I'm consistent."

Hurrying down Rue Gotlib Street, _Tom & Sabine's_ _Boulangerie Patisserie_  came into view and Adrien uttered a silent prayer. At the end of a long day, a pastry would set him up for the evening. He also liked to drop in and see Marinette. Usually, she worked during the week and was always there to greet him. She was his only friend, other than Annette, who was routinely in Paris every day. Since Sunday afternoon, his texts had largely gone ignored. They weren't even opened. It was Tuesday. It was unusual for Marinette to ignore messages, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't concerned. 

Pushing open the door, the bell rang somewhere within the shop. It was dimly lit with soft amber light. Mouthwatering, soothing scents of caramel, freshly baked cakes and vanilla pervaded his nostrils. Unsurprisingly for this awkward time between lunch and dinner, the bakery was rather scarce of patrons. Tom Dupain was loading a tray of assorted _petit-fours_ into the display case. 

"Hello," he greeted, closing the door behind him and closing his umbrella. Marinette's mother looked up from where she was cleaning worktops and sent him a beaming smile.

"Good evening, Adrien. Can I get you anything, dear?" she asked. Not once did her warm grin falter. In many ways, Sabine's presence was comforting. She reminded him of his own mother. She seemed to outwardly project a nurturing aura, like a homing beacon for people starved of familial affection. Upon thinking this, Adrien had to bite his tongue to stop himself snorting at the ridiculousness of it. He imagined throngs of people swarming towards Sabine and screaming for attention every time she stepped foot outside. _People can't be homing beacons. Sabine is a person, not a radar signal_ , he thought. It took a lot of willpower to stop himself giggling. 

"I'm here to see Mari, actually."

Sabine's smile dropped in favour of a surprised look. "She doesn't get many visitors. Did she invite you?"

"No. I was just passing and thought I'd drop in," replied Adrien. Oddly enough, he felt like her statement was interrogative. Sabine narrowed her eyes and stopped scrubbing the worktop to entirely focus on him. Suddenly, she looked exhausted. The guise of her cheery customer service persona melted away. He finally noticed the sleepless bruises under her eyes and the stress lines in the corner of her mouth.

"Marinette... has had a rough few days. I'm not sure she wants to see anyone," said Sabine absently. Frowning, he mulled over what she'd said. His worries had not been misplaced, then. Noticing his expression, Tom stepped forwards.

"She could use a friend, though. It's been difficult to get a word out of her."

"Are you sure? If she wants to be alone, I won't bother her. She just hasn't returned my texts so I got a bit worried," replied Adrien, gesturing a thumb in the direction of the door over his shoulder. With a shake of his head, Tom finished loading the display case before turning his full attention to Adrien. 

Clearing his throat, he said, "I meant it's been difficult to get a word out of her for almost a year. Marinette hasn't been... the _happiest_ person since she lost the apprenticeship. She could use someone to talk to."

"Marinette's on the balcony, dear. Just head right up," Sabine smiled, regaining some of her happier expression, and gestured towards the stairs. As he passed, she handed him a plate of fresh éclairs, smothered in fondant that hadn't quite set yet, and shot him a friendly wink. Halfway up the stairs, his hunger defeated him and he snagged one from the plate. Making a mental note to sell his soul to Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng, Adrien's eyes widened at the glory that was chocolate-flavoured  _crème pâtissière._

At the top of the stairs, Adrien had to take a moment to adjust to his surroundings, trying to remember where Marinette's room was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been further upstairs than the main Living Room. It must've been at least a decade. God, he was old. Then he saw the staircase with the trapdoor and could've slapped himself. Of _course_. 

"Marinette?" he called, pushing open the trapdoor. Receiving no answer, he stepped into the room. The walls were still the same dusky pink. Light streamed through the various windows. It was somewhat messy, as if someone had hastily made an attempt to tidy it and had only partially restored the disaster zone. The room was also empty, aside from the glaring basket of laundry and a stuffed black cat perched on the end of her bed. For some reason, it made him smile. Glancing up, the trapdoor leading to what he assumed was the balcony was ajar, so he headed in that direction. 

Marinette was leaning against the railing with a bottle of wine in her hand. If she noticed his arrival, she didn't acknowledge it, merely continuing to stare at a fixed point on the horizon with a blank expression. "Marinette?"

Startled, she spun to face him on wobbly legs, quickly swiping a hand across her damp cheeks. "A-Adrien, I didn't hear you come up."

He brushed his hand across the back of his neck awkwardly, and simply said, "Your maman sent me up. Sorry, I can go-"

"No!" she called a little too hastily as he turned to head downstairs. Marinette cleared her throat, steeling herself. "No, don't go. I could use some company." Silently, he joined her by the railing, observing that the wine bottle was far too empty and Marinette far too unsteady on her feet. 

"I'm sorry."

"What for? You haven't done anything," she said dismissively, tilting her head back as she took a swig of cheap wine, eyes closed. She'd cut her hair into a pixie cut, her fringe just flicking across her ears as she knocked back the drink. He sighed.

"I'm sorry about the apprenticeship. You said that it fell through but your Papa said you-" 

Marinette chuckled humorlessly. "That was so long ago now. It doesn't matter."

He didn't reply. Instead, he put the plate of éclairs down on the small table and leaned against the railing beside her. 

"If you keep dropping in for your pastry fix and fleeing into the night, people will start to talk, Adrien," Marinette said lightly. 

Snorting, he replied, "Your father's choux pastry is worth all the talk."

"You say that now. You've yet to see what years worth of choux pastry does to the waistline." She patted her stomach, stumbled and giggled as she grabbed the railing for support. He frowned.

"Your parents are worried about you. Are you... okay?"

Marinette gave him a pointed look and realised just how foolish his question had been. Despite this, she turned to look at him properly, a sincere expression settling on her face. "I don't sleep. I've slept for no more than six hours total this week. Either I eat nothing or too much. I drink when it gets like this. It's better than... everything collapsing at once."

"So... _not_ okay?"

To her credit, she smiled. It was a genuine smile, if a little sad. "No. No, I guess not." Falling silent, she turned back to lean on the railing. Bitter wintry currents of air swept the balcony and, involuntarily, they shivered and drew closer together, their shoulders pressed together as they looked across the city.  "What happened to you after we graduated from  _Françoise Dupont_? Everyone else... we all went to the same Lycée. You vanished."

"I... decided that homeschooling was the best option for me for my last few years. After what happened with my father... it was too difficult to leave the house every day, in all honesty," Adrien admitted. He realised she was diverting the conversation but decided not to push it. If she didn't want to talk yet, then he'd do it for her. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"It's okay." They fell into a comfortable silence, both content to simply enjoy each other's company. Marinette handed him the bottle. The wine tasted dire. She laughed at his cringe when the bitterness reached the back of his throat and graciously took the wine from him. 

"We don't buy any good wine. My maman only likes rice wine and my papa doesn't drink. It's down to me to get some, and my time at _La Cambre_ killed my taste-buds so... bad wine doesn't bother me," said Marinette apologetically. True to her word, she took another long drink of the swill without so much as a flinch. Adrien marvelled at the talent. 

"So, what've you done today?" he asked, nonchalant. "I mean, other than down a bottle of terrible wine."

She nudged him with her elbow clumsily, too tipsy to properly shove him, but the look in her eye wasn't malicious, merely mischievous. "I was planning on visiting the Louvre again. I've been meaning to go for a while but-" Marinette paused, savouring her words for a moment and clearly changing them. "- the weather hasn't been too promising."

"I take it that you like the Louvre?"

"Yes. My parents and I used to visit a lot. I'm sure I know it like the back of my hand by now." She laughed humorlessly. A single, harsh _ha_. "The guards know me by name."

Adrien puffed out his cheeks in amazement. "You must really like the Louvre!"

"I have a lot of memories there, I suppose." They fell back into companionable silence: Marinette sipping on her wine, Adrien sneaking more éclairs from the plate, both staring at the horizon. Streetlights flickered on, mapping out the few streets they could see from her balcony. The park, despite the later hour and descending darkness, was still reasonably busy. For a ridiculous stretch of time, he watched people come and go. Many were clearly office workers, dressed in creased cotton shirts and pantsuits. A gentleman carrying a guitar case was busking by a bench for a while, scuffed shoes tapping a rhythm on the ground, before calling it quits. A jogger ran through, stopped to fasten their shoelace before continuing on. A couple, perhaps the same age as Marinette and himself, wandered along the bordered paths and sat by the fountain, hands clasped. A cat curled up on a bench, tailing twitching. It was fascinating to be so detached from the world, to observe as a third-party that was never quite involved. 

Glancing at Marinette, he noticed that she too was watching the passersby. A forlorn expression accompanied her observations, as if being a third-party wasn't as pleasant for her as it was for him. He cleared his throat, "Mari... can I ask you a question?" When she didn't reply, he found himself asking anyway, despite his better judgement. After all, that was what Sabine had allowed him upstairs for; he needed to support Marinette. Only, he couldn't do that if he didn't know what had happened. "What happened to you?"

Studying her features, he saw no change for a while, not even a glance to show she'd acknowledged his question. Off in her own world, Marinette drank, the bottle nearing emptiness. Just when he thought about forgetting the venturous question altogether, her shoulders slumped and she sighed as if the weight of the world had been left as her burden. 

"I had a life, y'know? I had everything planned out: get the job, get the house, get my life started. For a while, things were going well. I graduated top of my class in fashion design, with honours, from _L'École de la Cambre_. I'd save just enough money to put down a rent deposit on my apartment in Cannes, and I was engaged to one of my best friends," she laughed mirthlessly, swilling the dregs of wine around the bottom of the bottle. Adrien absorbed this new information, refusing to interrupt. Marinette's eyes dropped from his, focusing on the ground. "Then I was dropped from the Cannes apprenticeship programme with Vuitton. Something about the department changing its design perspective, and I didn't fit their quota. The landlord of my apartment decided to sell off the flat and took my savings and my home from under me before I'd even unpacked the last box."

She stopped for a moment, collecting herself. Tears collected in her eyes and she appeared not to have the energy to blink them away. "I had nothing. I was stuck in Cannes with no job, no money, and no home. I'd only been there, what? A month? I stayed with my fiancé for a while and took on odd jobs and commissions to earn my keep. Then one day... one day-" Marinette folded on herself, unable to suppress the tears anymore. The quietness of her cries was eerie, her tears raw and heartfelt, like the pain was still an open wound. Adrien felt helpless, watching his friend crumble in a way she seemed too strong to be capable of doing. Yet here she was, her cries agonised and devastated and _oh god_ did he want to make it all better. But Marinette seemed like a boat torn from the docks in a storm, getting further and further away from him.

"Marinette, you don't have to tell me anything," he whispered, softly enclosing her in a hug. She buried her face in his neck, her breath cold across his skin, before pulling away and wrapping her arms around herself in consolation. It was then that he realised that Marinette was used to suffering alone. Seemingly embracing herself, the isolation in her stance was painfully familiar. She was the only thing holding herself together, and even that meagre facade was crumbling. 

"Then one day, I came home from working my shift to find a note, scrawled on the back of a takeout menu. It gave me six words explaining why he left me... and two days to pack my things and leave," she paused, voice small, and smiled so briefly he wasn't sure it'd been there at all. "My parents bought me a plane ticket and gave me a job. I could never be more grateful for that. Without them... I'm not sure where I'd be."

Adrien paused, not sure how to respond. Before he had the chance, Marinette continued, "It's like, I'm trying so hard to make things right again... to get back to normal. But every time I get even that little bit closer to where I want to be, something goes wrong again, and I lose it _all._ " She stopped to take a drink, desperately draining what was left of the bottle with shaky hands. "I just want to get back to how it was. I knew where I was going back then. I knew what my life would be and what I wanted to do. Now... now I don't even know where to start."

Marinette was a paradox. There were two anomalous versions of her, and it was as if they shifted interchangeably. One was bold and excitable and witty - The Marinette he'd seen at school when around her friends. The other? Quiet, contemplative and sad. Since returning to Paris almost a month before, Adrien hadn't understood that side of her until now. 

The truth seemed to pour out of every pore, every fibre of her being. At last, he saw that the sad side of her was always present, concealed behind a mask of false happiness. She didn't have to tell him for Adrien to know. He'd done the exact same thing for years after his mother vanished and his father became absent.  "You know, feeling a bit lost is okay, Mari," he said softly. She sniffled. "It hurts, sure, but it just means that all those things you were pursuing just weren't meant to be."

"I just... feel like I've wasted my time. Like everything I've done since leaving the Lycée has been pointless. And I know that's not true. My life was great. All my dreams were so _close_ and I was so _happy_. But now, I-" Unable to continue, she stopped. 

"You feel like you're back to square one?" For a moment, her expression was incredulous before giving way to a nod. For a moment, he considered a reply. Any words of comfort would be wasted breath. There wasn't a single solace that she wouldn't have heard a thousand times already. Silence was better than empty promises or small-talk. 

He offered her an éclair. She accepted. Not once did the silence break. 

Marinette sighed, swaying on her feel slightly. It was then that he realised she was still crying. "Maybe square one is where I'm meant to be. That's okay, I guess," she said faintly. He frowned.

"That's... not okay. It's the worst place to be. That's the point of 'square one'."

She raised a pointed finger like she was going to give a speech, closing her eyes sincerely. If the mood hadn't been so dire, he would've laughed. Clearly, however much she'd had to drink was quickly taking effect. "Like they say, when life gives you lemons-"

"Ask it why it gave you lemons. What kind of gift are lemons?" mused Adrien. He wasn't quite sure what was happening. The mood surrounding her seemed to pinball between immense sadness and drunken silliness. 

"Adrien, I was trying to get a vibe going again. I don't like things being sad."

"That 'vibe' is called an entire bottle of wine," replied Adrien drily. 

"It may not have been my weekend-" 

"Mari-"

"- but I'll be damned if it's not my year." Marinette was too drunk to care - or notice - that tears were streaming down her face, or that it was 6 o'clock and she was shouting into the night air while completely wasted. Adrien sighed, becoming increasingly bemused with each word she spoke. She still clutched her empty bottle of wine as if her life depended on it. It hadn't been her year yet. It was October. It wasn't even a weekend either. It was a Tuesday. 

Adrien was too busy decoding whatever it was she'd meant to point that out to her. "You're allowed to be sad, you know."

"Others have it worse. I just have to get on with things. That's how it is."

He turned to her fully, gripping her by the shoulders until her eyes flicked up to meet his. This close to her, he realised just how beautiful they were; they were like deep lagoons of blue, shining dimly behind the tears that collected in her eyes. "People can drown in puddles just as easily as they can drown in oceans. It doesn't change the fact that they drowned. A lot has happened to you, and it's okay for you to be sad. You've lost so much, Mari. Pretending you're fine just to make others feel better doesn't do anyone any good. It just means you're not going to get better because you're refusing to acknowledge what happened. Of course it's not easy and of course it hurts just as much as it did a year ago, but eventually, the hurt will fade if you let it. It happened, and in order for you to move past square one, you need to accept it."

Once again, she didn't answer. Instead, she took the time to slowly process his words, seemingly turning over each one in her head. He didn't mind her slowness. Years in business made him excessively patient, and it wasn't as if he was in a rush to go anywhere. Helping himself to yet another éclair, he watched moon disappear and reappear from behind the clouds. As it was so late in the year, it had already been dark for an hour or two. Adrien had almost forgotten how much he'd missed the winter months, when things grew dark and the wind gained a bite. Almost all his winters had been spent in hotter climates, like California or Australia. 

Winter had been his favourite time of the year. Suddenly, he recalled a time just after he'd started at school when Nino had taken him to a Christmas Market on the outskirts of Paris. It had taken nearly two weeks to convince his father to let him go and in the end, the Gorilla had accompanied him every step of the way at the insistence of his father. It hadn't mattered really. It had been the first truly brilliant day after his mother disappeared. Not once had he felt sad.

He could still remember the memory almost perfectly. Market stalls had lined a large cobbled courtyard offering a broad variety of goods, from small porcelain elves to sweetmeats. Christmas lights and bunting had been strung between old-fashioned gas lamps. Rich scents of melted chocolate, caramelised cashews and mulled wine filled the air, tempting shoppers and luring them towards the various food stalls. It had been very chilly, not quite cold enough to snow but cold enough to warrant a thick woollen coat and the blue scarf his father had gifted him. He'd been so happy that day. 

Annette had invited him to a Christmas market in December, too. By December, Adrien would no longer be needed on the project because all of the precursors and main paperwork would be complete and, consequently, had hoped to have left Paris by then. The design team would also have arrived to begin the production process. As his attendance wasn't necessary, he'd planned a visit to California, for no reason other than getting as far away from Paris as he could in one trip. That being said, the promise of the market and mulled wine (plus Annette's persistent nagging for several hours) had more than persuaded him to postpone his trip to California for a week longer. 

Of course, they were still down a designer until Haruhi Sato could confirm her schedule, so whether or not they'd actually have time to leave their office for such an event was debatable. 

Then, suddenly, an idea occurred to him. 

"Marinette... can I ask you something?" began Adrien slowly. She didn't answer, but he figured that was down to her being stupendously drunk.  For a moment, he considered what he would say. Haruhi Sato wouldn't be too pleased if she'd cleared her schedule for nothing, and most definitely wouldn't appreciate being dropped from what had the potential to be _Gabriel_ 's greatest ever line. Adrien decided that Annette would deal with that, considering how she'd made him do all the business plans. "How would you like to join my team? We need another designer, just to consult on the final ideas and begin adapting them, and you're more than qualified-"

"Are you serious?" Her blue eyes brightened as if his words staved off the drunkenness for a moment. Then they went dark again, and her expression fell. "I don't know, Adrien. I haven't designed in a _year_ , maybe more. I just don't think I'm capable of designing anymore. Besides, baking is... what I enjoy."

"Are you listening to yourself?" he hissed, his temper suddenly flaring at her nonchalant attitude. "If you give in so easily, then maybe you _shouldn't_ be a designer. You bake because it's _safe_ and because you know you can rely on it, not because you enjoy it. No wonder you have no inspiration when you're wasting your time doing something that obviously doesn't motivate you!"

She didn't reply.

"I refuse to watch you waste your own time. You're better than that. You have more talent in your pinkie finger than most designers will ever have in a lifelong career so don't you dare tell me you're not good enough to design for me. It's insulting."

For a moment, he thought he went too far. Marinette's expression was vacant. His temper dissipated immediately, replaced with an unnameable, cold feeling. Then she said, with a quiet voice, "You're right."

"Wait... what?"

She shrugged. "You're right. Baking _is_ safe but right now, it's all I've got. I'm not the designer I used to be and I refuse to jeopardise your project by taking on something I'm not capable of doing."

Adrien contemplated this for a moment. "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't think you were capable," he said. "You even said yourself that you know the Louvre and its pieces like the back of your hand. This is meant to be confidential, but the new line is entirely based on works found in the Louvre." He folded his arms, meeting her eyes with a challenging stare. Marinette looked defiant for a moment, cheeks pink.

"You shouldn't have-"

"Too late. You know trade secrets. I'm afraid, Miss Dupain-Cheng, that I have no choice but to formally hire you."

"But-"

"Or I'll sue you for all you have." From the half-amused, half-serious look on his face, Marinette couldn't tell if Adrien was joking or not. That much was obvious in her indignantly confused expression. Clearly, she was at a loss for words. _Marvellous,_ he thought _._  Narrowing her eyes, Marinette turned away from him again. 

"I'll have to talk to my parents," said Marinette finally. She didn't look at him.

"So that's a yes?"

Glaring non-threateningly at him from the corner of her eye, Marinette battled halfheartedly to keep the small smile off her face. "No, it's a consideration."

A grin practically shattered his face. "That's totally a yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Kai, you said it'd be a quick update!"
> 
> I'm a liar. Sorry.
> 
> I thought this'd take me a week or two to finish because I already had half the chapter written, but as it turns out, writing doesn't like deadlines. Never let me become a journalist. I think monthly updates are as good as it's getting guys.
> 
> (Oh my God, it's going to take me like a year to finish this)
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	9. A New Life

"Girl, you've been holding out on me. When did you say Adrien rolled back into town?" 

It was Wednesday evening. The aftermath of the night before had left her with a terrible hangover, and it was still lingering behind her eyes. _Note to self: don't down a bottle of wine again_ , she thought with a wince. Marinette tugged on the hem of her jumper. "Like... three weeks? I don't remember exactly."

"Uh-huh, sure you don't," Alya snorted, a sound which sounded particularly strange over the phone. "You used to have his schedule on a calendar. You _memorised_ it."

"That was over ten years ago, can you let it go already?!" squeaked Marinette in embarrassment. "It was creepy, I know!"

From the other end of the line, Alya laughed. "It was _beyond_ creepy. You were a stalker, girl."

"Yeah, yeah. Fine. Stalker. Got it," she mumbled. Her cheeks felt incredibly hot.

"I'm just teasing. Nino told me weeks ago that Adrien was visiting Paris again," said Alya. The sound crackled. "How are you, anyway?"

Her conversation with Adrien from the night before sprang to mind. Talking about what happened with someone had made everything less burdensome and more bearable. She smiled. "I think things are looking up." 

Alya sighed, slightly relieved by the sound of it. "Dieu merci."

"How's LA?" 

"It's amazing, Mari! You'd absolutely love it," exclaimed Alya. "There's so much happening here. I could finish my thesis using all the material I've dug up."

"No snooping in private lives, Alya," Marinette chided. She could practically feel Alya's eye roll from a continent away. 

"Anyway, I'm so close to finishing my thesis that I can send it off in the next few months. Then, who knows? Nino seems pretty keen on setting up a base here in LA and I don't think I'd mind staying either." They both fell silent as Alya waited in anticipation for her response. Marinette ran her tongue behind her teeth as she mulled over what she'd said. A strange numb feeling had filled her chest. 

Of course, she was excited for Alya and Nino. They'd been travelling and touring for quite a few years and both had expressed interest in settling down. Nino wanted to set up his own record label and Alya had always wanted a stable career as a journalist or blogger. She just never anticipated that they wouldn't return home to settle.

It had been a long time since she'd seen them in person. It'd been a little selfish to hope that she'd get to see them every day again. They weren't school children anymore. They were individuals. Their lives had taken them far away, but they were happy. That's all that mattered.

"That sounds amazing, Alya," said Marinette finally. "If you get a place near a beach, you'll never get rid of me. I'd be visiting all the time."

"Dang it. I was hoping the prospect of sunlight would scare you off. I'm one-hundred-percent sure you're a vampire," Alya cried. 

With a laugh, she replied, "I'm immune to sunlight. I drink lots of orange juice. You better watch out, Alya."

"I'm getting a burner phone and going into hiding. You'll never find me."

"As if you could stay off social media."

"Touché," said Alya lightly. Suddenly, Alya reeled off a long, rapid sentence in English. The line sounded muffled, as if Alya had covered the receiver with her hand. Marinette raised her brows in surprise. She knew very little English and had never even been close to fluency. Compared to Alya, her English was embarrassing. "Sorry, girl, I've got to go. Mark has mixed up Nino's set again."

"Again?"

"Mark is bad at his job. Anyway, talk later?"

"Yeah, su-" The line went dead. "-re." 

Marinette sighed. Since she began travelling with Nino, Alya had had very little time to come home or even have a proper catch-up. She couldn't help but feel that they were drifting apart a little. She missed her best friend so much it hurt sometimes, but she'd never get in the way of Alya's life. 

Sliding her phone into her back pocket, she headed downstairs. The living room looked like a tornado had swept through it. Clothes were slung over the back of the sofa. Recipe books were open on the breakfast table. A portfolio of loose recipe pages had fallen off the worktop and splayed clippings across the floor. From her parent's bedroom downstairs, she could hear them bickering as they packed their suitcases. 

Tom and Sabine were heading to the annual confectionery competition and convention in Belgium, then to visit Tom's mother near Calais before returning home. Consequently, the bakery would be closed for the few weeks they were away. The last time they'd left Marinette to run the bakery independently had been just after she'd returned to Paris and it had ended catastrophically. It was best that the bakery closed, lest her parents needed to replace the oven again.

It was the only time a year that her parents ever had a vacation, and was also one of the few times a year that her parents ever argued. 

A flurry of movement burst into the living room. Sabine Cheng whirled in, wielding fistfuls of socks and shouting in Chinese. Stuffing the socks into the large suitcase propped open in the middle of the floor, her mother vanished downstairs almost instantaneously. 

Her father peeked through the door. Upon seeing that Sabine wasn't in the room and he was in no immediate danger, he breathed a sigh and scurried into the living room. "Where's your maman _?_ "

"Downstairs. What are you arguing about?" asked Marinette. She plucked an apple from the fruit bowl and tossed it between her hands. Tom sighed again.

"How many pairs of socks we need for a three-week trip. I don't know what she's still upset about. I don't speak a word of Chinese." He dragged a hand down his face tiredly. "She's just stressed because the van we rented to take the food has been overbooked, so we're going to be behind schedule when we arrive."

"Make sure she takes her box of tea then. It will calm her nerves later."

"Where is it?"

"Top shelf. Behind the biscuit tin shaped like a cat."

"I knew she hid it." 

"Stop 'borrowing' her special tea leaves then."

"Can't help it. They're so refreshing," Tom said with a wink. After digging the box out of the cupboard, he went back into the bedroom to finish packing. With a grin, Marinette sought out her mother, who had stopped cursing and was happily coating rose petals with sugared water in the bakery. 

There were still several batches of sugared plums and candied petals to make before her parents left in the morning. She was more than happy to assist. Sugared plums were one of her favourite sweet treats, and with any luck, Sabine always let her sneak a handful before they were sorted into parcels. 

With the bakery closed for the following three weeks, it was easy to settle into a rhythm of sorting sugared plums into clear cellophane bags. Sugared plums took days - if not weeks - of preparation. Sabine had always used a 17th Century recipe for the delicacies, which she'd found in a book called " _At the Sign of the Sugared Plum_ ". It was one of the few sugared plum recipes that dried the plums as opposed to baking them. Her mother stood by her opinion that drying them made them sweeter. 

Together, she and her mother put the plums into crates, ready for transportation the following morning. With the last stresses of packing and organising out of the way, the tension in Sabine's shoulders visibly reduced. She offered her mother a plum. 

"Thank you," said Sabine.

Observing the stress lines appearing on her mother's face, she frowned. "Are you okay, maman?" 

A sigh. It seemed to convey all sleeplessness and anxiety that Sabine had pent up. Wordlessly and without the need for a reply, Marinette consoled her mother. With the smell of sugar and her mother's perfume in the air, the bakery suddenly seemed more comforting. It made everything seem a little better.

 

* * *

 

As darkness gathered, the family gathered on the sofa in the living room. The curtains were drawn, so the room seemed warm and cosy. Her father had picked out a film to watch and a selection of sweets and miniature cakes were laid out on the coffee table. Each of them cradled a large mug of hot chocolate, specially made by Marinette with whipped cream and marshmallows. 

It had been a while since they'd all sat down in one place, and Marinette had missed it dearly. With her parents soon to depart, it was nice to spend time with them before they left. 

For the following two hours, she sat by Tom and Sabine's feet as they watched the film. Her parents snuggled together on the sofa, ever the loving couple, the arguments of the afternoon quickly forgotten. As was typical, her father spent much of the film asleep and she and her mother spent much of it laughing at his open-mouthed snores.  

As the credits rolled to a close, her father promptly shot awake, scattering the bowl of sweets still propped in his lap. Laughing, Marinette plucked one from her hair. "What a shame... gummy bears are my favourite," said Tom a little sadly. Sabine chuckled. Apparently, Tom hadn't changed much throughout the course of their marriage.

Watching her parents, so happy together after such a long time, brought warmth to Marinette's chest. It was nice to know that despite the state of the world and the rock bottom where she found herself, good things still existed. Nothing was hopeless. Despite her loneliness, Marinette didn't feel as destitute as she once did. It was refreshing.

"Maman, Papa, can I ask you something?" 

"Of course, sweetheart." 

She paused. Throughout her life, her parents had always sought to make her happy, so long as she behaved and worked hard. They'd wanted the best for her, and supported everything she'd set her heart on. Tom and Sabine had even helped her when she told them she'd wanted to move away, despite their own sadness at losing the close proximity to their daughter. Marinette couldn't have wished for a better, more loving family. 

Yet for whatever reason, telling them that she was finally pursuing a way out of her rut made her sick to her stomach. The pleasantness of the evening had made procrastinating the conversation seem easy, and she'd almost backed out of it altogether. 

As much as she'd always appreciated their approval, she'd never actively sought it. She knew they were there when she needed them and never called it into question. But regarding the project, Marinette wanted to know they'd support her. She needed them. If the project failed, she wasn't sure who'd pick up the pieces of another disaster. 

"Marinette?"

She blinked. While lost in her own thoughts, her parents had leaned forwards, concern forming a crease in their brows. It struck her how tired they seemed. The last year had been hard on them, too. "Last night, Adrien and I... well-" 

"Yes?"

"He asked me to join his design team and I-"

Her parents practically leapt from their seats with joy. "Oh, Marinette, we're so pleased for you!"

"I haven't accepted yet," replied Marinette quietly. Sabine looked surprised, and Tom regained his seat. 

"Why on earth not?" he asked. 

Marinette sighed, looking down at her hands. "It's an intensive project, but I haven't designed in so long. If I fail, then... no, I can't do that to him or his company." 

The words seemed to rush out all at once, but the weight of doubt remained on her chest. Adrien's request hadn't been burdening or stressful in the slightest. It weighed on her all the same. 

Her father rested a hand on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "All business ventures are risky Marinette, but when they pay off, they're worthwhile and very rewarding. Don't be afraid of this challenge or the issues that may arise. You can deal with them, and Adrien's got too level a head on his shoulders not to have thought this through."

"Your father is right, sweetheart," said Sabine softly. "I know you've been disappointed in the past, but that doesn't change who you are. You're talented and, as much as we love having you here, we hate feeling like we're trapping you with us instead of you pursuing your dream."

"You're not trapping me," Marinette replied. 

"But you're still not happy here." And there it was. All the cards laid out on the table, ready for judgement. 

It wasn't a pleasant realisation. Marinette didn't feel trapped, but the bakery was hereditary, not voluntary. At least her parents were right about that. "We just want you to be happy, sweetheart. Whatever you choose, we'll support you," said Tom solemnly. They hugged her. She smiled despite herself. After all, her parents knew her better than anyone. Knowing she had their support either way was refreshing. 

Promising to think it over, Marinette cleared away the bowls and plates of sweet treats and headed back to her room. 

Darkness began to settle over Paris as night drew closer. The birds that roosted near her window had settled, occasionally cooing to call another nest-mate home. Climbing the stairs, she threw herself down on her bed and unlocked her phone.

One new message(s).

Opening her inbox, she found an unopened message from none other than Adrien Agreste. 

**Adrien: _You hungover?_**

She snorted. 

**You: _Yes :(_**

He didn't reply for a while. Marinette was seven videos into a Youtube spiral before her phone buzzed. 

**Adrien: _Karma's a bitch_**

**You: _Ur a bully, Agreste_**

**Adrien: _;) I know_**

Marinette read his text and had to stifle a laugh. Despite her efforts, she giggled and received a rather accusatory look from Tikki, who was sprawled ungracefully on a pillow on the other side of the bed. "What?"

"I didn't say anything," protested Tikki with a grin.

"No, but you were thinking something. What?" Marinette persisted. 

"Nothing."

 _Hmph_ , she thought. Before she could inquire further, the phone buzzed again. 

**Adrien: _You thought about my offer?_**

Thinking back to her conversation with her parents, she realised she'd already made up her mind, even before they'd talked. Momentarily, she felt selfish, but her parents wouldn't want her to feel that way. It was her future. It was time she shaped it.

**You: _Yes_**

**Adrien: _And? What's the verdict? Will I have to sue you?_**

Smiling, she typed out her reply and hit send. 

**You: _No, u won't. I'll do it._**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact this chapter took me over a month and it's half as long as any of my other chapters AND it's only a filler chapter, is so disappointing. You guys have waited a month for this and it's not even that great an update.
> 
> I'm sorry. I had a bit of a shit December and this chapter sucked to write. Hopefully, my next update will be quicker. 
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	10. Wounded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Blood, minor violence, surgical procedures etc. 
> 
> Discretion is advised. 
> 
> Minor spoilers for the 'Befana' episode.

It was late afternoon as Marinette walked back from the train station. After spending most of the day with Rose and Juleka, she was rather content and more than aware of the setting sun. She'd got off the train a few stops early, determined to make good use of the fine weather. It had been bleak for a few weeks and she'd missed the sunshine. 

The day had been pleasant. When Juleka had finished her morning photo shoot with a client, they'd all gone for dinner together in a café near their home. Rose and Juleka expressed all the happiness of a soon-to-be-married couple and, over a pot of tea and fresh scones with jam and cream, had relayed the intricacies of their wedding plans. 

It was the first time in a few months since she'd seen them and she'd appreciated the catch-up. Rose's cheerfulness had been greatly missed, and Marinette was glad to see they were happier than they'd been last time she'd seen them. Apparently, it had been a particularly glum year for everyone. Juleka's mother had passed away in the late summer, and Rose's parents had stopped speaking to her after she proposed to Juleka. 

Yet, there they'd sat, happy as could be, persevering despite their tribulations. Marinette truly admired them.

The low sun glinted off the windows as she passed. The lower it got, the braver the chill became, until it defeated the heat of the afternoon almost completely. The air that met her was crisp and cool, quite opposite to the stuffy train car. Hugging her coat around her, she walked quickly. 

With her parents gone, the side entrance to the bakery was the only set of keys she had with her. Still a few blocks away from home, she clutched her keys with fervour. That way, when she arrived she could open the door as quickly as possible. 

The streets were emptying as it drew closer to dinner time, when families gathered around the table to share a meal together. The only thing on Marinette's mind was escaping the chill, then reheating one of the several tupperware boxes of chili that her mother had left in the fridge for her. Tikki, asleep in her purse, had requested some warm cookies and a _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ marathon before she'd dozed off. 

Overhead, the streetlights finally came on. 

Ducking down a side street, she hoped to abscond the growing cold. Her fingers were frozen cold, and no amount of blowing on them or stuffing them into her pocket was doing any good. 

The side street was quaint and poorly lit, with back entrances to restaurants precariously positioned in walls that seemed to tilt with age. Narrow strips of light oozed from small windows scattered amongst the brickwork. Large bins spewed black bin-bags, teeming with insects and casting a sour smell into the air. Beginning to regret her choice of short-cut, Marinette pressed her scarf over her mouth and quickened her pace, hoping to escape the smell of damp, rotting waste. 

Glancing down at her phone to check the time, she sighed at her lack of messages and shoved her phone back into her pocket. 

Someone was blocking her way. 

Hard eyes glared from beneath the brim of a black baseball cap, his face disguised by the heavy shadows of the gathering evening. He was taller than her by at least a foot. Judging by the sure-footedness of his stance, it wasn't his first tango in the backstreets of Paris, either. Nor was it hers. She stopped in her tracks.

She narrowed her eyes, noticing the switchblade twirling deftly in his fingers. "Purse and phone. Now." His voice was a monotonous drone.  

Tikki was in her purse. There was no way she was handing it over. Shoving her keys back into her purse, Marinette clutched the strap of her purse tightly. "No." She was proud of the certainty in her voice. After all, facing villains as Ladybug was one thing, but without her suit, she was much more liable to get hurt. 

The man, still cloaked in darkness, approached predatorily. The blade glinted in the darkness. "Purse. Phone. _Now_. I won't ask again," he hissed. Marinette steeled herself. Examining his body language, it would be easy to take out his knees and figure things out from there. The knife would be an issue, but she could deal with that. 

She repeated, "No." 

He lunged. She side-stepped. 

His blade swiped nothing but air. Weaving around him, she ducked and swung a kick into his knees. Crumpling onto one knee, he grunted and swung his arm out. The edge of the blade slid a cool line across her thigh. Adrenalin made it numb instantaneously, but the blood quickly soaked through the fabric of her jeans. 

The assailant struggled to his feet. Rounding on her, he moved as if he were going to strike again. 

Suddenly, he was launched backwards through the air, landing roughly in one of the dumpsters. Chat Noir stood from his crouch, resting his staff across his shoulders almost casually. "Me-ouch, monsieur. That's not how you treat a lady!"

Bewildered, Marinette could do nothing but clutch her leg and gape at him. Her purse rattled. Tikki was awake, it seemed, but she was wise to keep quiet. Chat turned to her. "Marinette?" He sounded surprised. "Are you okay?"

 _He remembers my name?_ "Oh... yeah. I think so." 

He glanced at her leg, unconvinced. "Then what happened?" 

"Oh-" She drew her hands away from her leg, hoping that it was a smaller scrape than first assumed. Her palms were slick with blood, and her jeans had a large, stained tear where the knife had sliced them. It didn't _look_ like a graze. "It's only a graze." 

"Uh-huh," he replied. Chat was most definitely not convinced. "I'll be back in a minute. Wait here." Grabbing the groaning assailant by the hood of his jacket, he dragged him from the dumpster and out of the mouth of the alley, vanishing out of sight. Uncertainly, she waited for him. Her leg began to throb as the adrenaline in her system depleted. _Ouch_.

After a few minutes, he came back. Without another word, he swept her off her feet and carried her bridal style through the streets. Passing pedestrians gave them startled, odd looks as they passed. Marinette felt rather sheepish. A block later and she was home. _Damn, this man has a good memory_ , she thought. 

It took her a minute of coercion, but Marinette finally convinced him to put her down long enough for her to grab her key to the side entrance from her purse. Helping her hobble up the stairs and across the living room, he sat her down on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. "What now?" asked Chat. For the first time, he didn't seem so self-assured. They were both apprehensive, unsure how to act. 

She thought for a moment. "The first aid kit's in the bathroom cabinet. Can you get it for me?"

When Chat came back, he seemed a little shocked. "That looks-"

"Bad? I know. Pass me the first aid kit and go get me my fabric scissors from my desk upstairs." 

"But-"

At her stern look, he did as he was told. Tikki peered from her purse where it was slung on the counter. "Marinette!" 

"Hush, Tikki! I'll be fine, I promise!" The kwami ducked out of sight just as Chat reappeared. Wisely, he didn't ask any questions as she wordlessly took the fabric scissors from him. Casting a mournful look at her now-ruined favourite pair of jeans, she cut down the seams of her jeans on both sides and threw them in the bin. 

Without them, it was easier to assess the damage. The cut was deeper than first anticipated, but nothing she hadn't dealt with before. At least it was a clean slice. The edge wasn't torn or jagged. As Ladybug, the suit was impenetrable and so she was rarely injured, but if she was caught on the face or ear, the injury stayed with her. To avoid awkward questions at hospitals, she'd always dealt with her own injuries. At university, she'd done a course in emergency first-aid. Never before had she had to stitch her own wound - she'd never had an injury that needed it - but she had stitched her Papa's hand when he cut it on a box-cutter. There was a first time for everything.

She pulled on a pair of rubber gloves from the kit. Dousing the cut with antiseptic alcohol and distilled water, she dabbed it with gauze, all while hissing and swearing colourfully. Making sure the wound was clean, she produced a hooked needle from a sealed sterile bag in the first-aid kit using tweezers and threaded it with suture thread. 

"Marinette?" asked Chat uncertainly. She glanced at him. "Your hands are shaking." 

They were. Her hands were trembling so much that it was a wonder she hadn't dropped the needle. Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she steeled her nerves. _You've done this before. You've done this before_. No amount of repetition made her feel more confident. _Put on your brave face, Mari_. 

Blowing out a breath, she opened her eyes and began stitching. One interrupted stitch. _Snip_. Two. _Snip_. On she went. The pain was indescribable, as if her leg had been engulfed in flames. She bit down on her scarf to muffle her cries. Unfortunately, she had nothing to numb it with.  

Chat swallowed and looked away, his face a little green. After the twelfth stitch, she was done. The suture was red and sore but had been appropriately dealt with. Marinette had to wipe her face. She'd been crying. Biting her lip, she applied an antiseptic cream before covering the suture with a sterile gauze dressing, taping it down and wrapping her thigh in bandages to secure the dressing. 

Puffing out her cheeks, she covered her face with her hands. The erratic pounding of her heart rushed in her ears.  

Chat still looked pale. "You have... done that before, right?"

"No. No, I have not," she replied shakily.

"Are you okay?" asked Chat. He was frowning, a concerned look that created a small crease between his brows. 

"I will be."

After a moment's pause, he said, "Please, don't do that again." Whether he was talking about getting mugged or stitching her own wound, she couldn't be sure. Judging from his expression, it was possible he meant both scenarios. 

She sighed. "Right... hot chocolate, anyone?" Marinette swore she'd never seen such a hilarious combination of horror and relief on someone's face before. 

Ten minutes later, they were both sat at the breakfast bar, cupping mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream, a Monopoly board in front of them. Chat looked out of place, a black-clad figure amongst the pastels of the kitchen, but he acted right at home. Despite making sure she was alright multiple times, he showed no desire to leave yet.

She was grateful for his company and for the distraction. Although Chat had dealt with the mugger and she was going to be more than fine, Marinette didn't want to be alone yet. The confrontation had left her shaken up, and the house seemed much bigger when she was the only one there. 

A bowl of chili between them and two mugs of hot chocolate later, Marinette whooped in loud victory as she swiped the last of Chat's money. "I win again! Two games to me and _none_ for Chat Noir." 

Chat crossed his arms, nose in the air. "I let you win."

"In your dreams, chaton. Admit it, I'm savvier at Monopoly than you," said Marinette with a coy smile. Behind the mask, his green eyes narrowed. 

"My life goal is to set an example for the business enterprises of the world to try their hardest and make good financial decisions," replied Chat, nonchalantly examining his claws. "I'm not in it for the capitalism, Marinette."

Marinette pointed an accusing finger at him. "Chat, stop saying that every time I beat you at this."

He mimicked her posture. "Oh look, I'm Marinette and I'm just absolutely superior at Monopoly and won't let anyone inspire the-"

"Shut up and drink your hot chocolate. It's going cold." Marinette grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling. Something about Chat was familiar to her. It was as if they were old friends catching up over a drink. He acted differently to than when she was Ladybug. This was a side of him that, although similar, wasn't quite the same as the Chat she knew. It was a silly notion; they'd only met a handful of times without her being Ladybug, why would he act so familiar? 

Dismissing the thought, Marinette stashed the money back in the box and packed away the Monopoly board. Collecting the mugs and bowls, she stood to clear them away and winced. A strong twinge of pain flared up her right side. Chat quickly forced her back onto the stool. "Don't fuss," she said softly. "I'll have to walk on it eventually."

Chat rolled his eyes. "Yes, eventually. Not now. So do me a favour and let me clean up." Taking the pots from her, he took them to the sink and began washing up. She found herself smiling fondly at his turned back. There was an easiness in the way they spoke that brought on an odd sense of deja-vu. Chat seemed so familiar, and the feeling wouldn't go away no matter how much she dismissed it. 

"It's getting late. Are you sure no one will miss you?" she asked. 

Chat shook his head. "Nah," he said, "I'm usually under the radar at home. People only come looking if they really need something." Despite the sadness of his words, his tone was easy. Whatever issues he had at home, Chat seemed to have made peace with them. Still, she couldn't help but pity him. 

"Why's that?"

"Trying to unlock the secrets of my tremulous past?" teased Chat, narrowing his eyes at her from over his shoulder. She didn't remember them being so brilliantly green. "Nuh-uh, my tragic backstory is locked until you're a level 12 mage specialising in blood magic."

Marinette blinked. "Did you just... go full nerd on me?"

Chat stared at her, mock-mortification twisting his features. "Mademoiselle, do you not know the glory that is RPG games?"

"I like  _Ultimate Mecha Strike III_  and all the prequels and sequels of the franchise, but that was all I ever really got into."

"Who's the nerd now? That's nine games!"

"Oh, shush, they were good, okay?" said Marinette. He threw his head back and laughed. "What?"

"Nothing," Chat replied with a smirk, turning his attention back to the sink. So Marinette sat and simmered, picking the hem of her shirt. There was a small splotch of blood on it. It had dried a russet colour on the white fabric. It would most definitely not soak out. She clucked her tongue in annoyance. 

Easing herself off the stool, the pain in her leg ached. "I'm going to get changed. Are you sure you're okay doing that?" she asked. 

"You got stabbed today," Chat began with a cocked brow, "and you're wondering if I'm okay washing a few mugs?"

"Fair point."

 

* * *

 

Adrien couldn't believe the turn his day had taken. 

After another long day in the office sorting paperwork, both he and Annette had clocked out early when the boredom seemed as if it would eat them alive at the next opportunity. However, he also couldn't face another evening shut up in his room finishing paperwork and then watching a few hours of the mindless drivel that was reality TV. After bribing Plagg with luxury Camembert, he'd suited up to go for a run.  

A breath of fresh air was what he needed after being cooped up all day. 

After exploring for over an hour, enjoying the last embers of daylight as it grew darker, he stopped. Breath heaved from his chest. Exhilaration flooded his veins. He loved the freedom of being Chat Noir again. No worries. No responsibilities. Just him, the city, and the ground beneath his feet. 

Then he'd heard it. 

A grunt of pain and a thud. It was probably nothing. In such a busy city as this, it wouldn't have surprised him if the crowded streets had gotten a little rowdy and someone had been knocked over. He himself had fallen over an uneven slab on the pavement more times than he cared to admit. 

Nevertheless, his curiosity had drawn him in. 

Ears swivelling, he'd followed the sound until he was looking down into a side street from the rooftop above. A person clad all in dark clothes was down on one knee, a knife clutched in their hand. A woman stood a metre away, stumbling backwards away from him, hands clutching her thigh.

The figure had struggled to his feet, turning towards the woman as if to strike her. 

Adrien  _had_ to get down there. 

He'd leapt down, landed in a crouch, and with all his strength, slammed his staff into the man's chest. With a satisfying _thump_ , he'd landed in a dumpster a few metres away. Adrien had felt rather proud of himself. It was his first altercation since donning the mask once again, and he'd already put a man in a dumpster. "Me-ouch, monsieur. That's not how you treat a lady!" he'd said cockily.

Then he'd turned to face the woman, only to find Marinette where he thought he'd find an unfortunate citizen.

"Marinette?" It had been impossible to mask his surprise. "Are you okay?" 

She'd looked as bewildered as he felt. "Oh... yeah. I think so." 

Adrien spared a glance at her leg, which she had clutched feebly with two hands. "Then what happened?" 

"Oh-" Adrien recalled his horror as she'd drawn her hands away, only to find her hands were stained red. Where she'd been holding her leg, a large patch of blood was blossoming. Her face had been pale. "It's only a graze." It hadn't _looked_ like a graze.

"Uh-huh," he'd replied. "I'll be back in a minute. Wait here." Grabbing the mugger by the hood, Adrien dragged him from the dumpster and out of the mouth of the alley. Trailing the man down the street behind him, Adrien didn't stop until he found a police officer. Oddly enough, it was Officer Raincomprix. Due to his age, he was surprised that Sabrina's father hadn't retired already, but there he was, still on the beat. 

"Chat Noir!" Raincomprix had obviously been surprised. His mouth had made an _O_. His expression as a whole had been rather comical. If not for the assailant struggling in his grip, he would've laughed. 

"Officer, this man just tried to mug a young woman. I trust you can deal with him?" 

"Of course, but-" 

"Oh, good." Adrien hurled the man at Raincomprix's feet.

"Hey!" the man grunted. The officer had been more than happy to cuff the suspect and had puffed out his chest when he drew the attention of a few passing bystanders. 

Adrien sighed and had turned to leave. He'd already been gone a few minutes at that point and hadn't liked how much blood had been on Marinette's jeans. "Ah, he doth protest too much methinks."

"Hang on a second, Chat Noir. I can't just arrest a guy just because you've said so!" exclaimed Raincomprix.  

"Armed robbery is a felony, officer. You have two witnesses: me, and the victim, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Who - by the way- was stabbed in the proceedings."

"Oh."

"Yes, 'oh'. Now, lock him up. I'll drop by the Police Station later to hand in our statements. You'll find his weapon on Jorah Street. It's hard to miss." 

Adrien had been quick to return to Marinette, who (thankfully) had waited for him. Her brows were drawn down over her eyes, undoubtedly from pain. 

After carrying her back home and watching queasily as she sewed up her own wound - seriously, what the _hell_ Mari? - Adrien was quite happy to fall into the duties of a worried friend. Cleaning up after their Monopoly-and-hot-chocolate session, hours later, was the least he could do. 

Marinette had managed to hobble upstairs, insisting she didn't need any assistance. In the meantime, he finished up the dishes and put them away. Leaning back on the counter, he sighed. The recollection of her blood-covered hands and pale face was stuck in the forefront of his mind. No matter how many times it played on loop, or how many times he distracted himself with other things, it was still there. 

And he'd been _scared_. 

Despite knowing from a glance that Marinette's wound wasn't as bad as it could've been, it didn't sit well with him just how afraid it had made him. That fear still lingered slightly. He half expected to hear a thud, as if Marinette had fallen and been injured again. 

To make matters worse, he couldn't even understand why he was so worried. She'd proven she was going to be okay, and didn't seem too concerned about it herself. Yet there he was, fretting over her for no apparent reason. 

Mentally, he chastised himself for being foolish. _She'll be fine_ , he thought, _I mean, she sewed herself up and you couldn't even look!_

That seemed to settle his discomfort slightly. He pinched the bridge of his nose. _This woman will be the death of me_.

On the wall, the clock chimed. Six o'clock. As if on cue, soft footfalls descended the stairs. Clumsily, Marinette fumbled for the handrail. She looked absolutely adorable, if a little exhausted. Her hair was messy, and she wasn't wearing any makeup. She'd changed into an oversized jumper. It was the same dusty pink as the scatter cushions on the sofa. Apparently, a lot of the colours in the house were coordinated to Marinette's taste. Perhaps it was a family thing.

"Nice jumper."

"Thanks. It's large enough that no-one knows when I unbutton my jeans."

He glanced down at her legs. She was wearing pyjama shorts. "You're not even wearing jeans."

"Oh, jeez, I wonder why," she replied sarcastically, gesturing the bandages that swaddled her thigh. "Why are there so many stairs in my house?" She groaned softly each time she put weight on her right leg. 

"Hey, I had to carry you up them. You are in no position to complain. My arms still hurt," replied Adrien warmly. To emphasise his point, he rolled his shoulder as if to stretch a sprained muscle. 

Marinette shot daggers at him. He responded with a trademark Chat Noir grin. "Oh, boo-hoo. I got _stabbed_ , Chat." 

"Touché." 

Struggling down another step, she huffed impatiently and sat down on the stairs. He watched in amusement as she proceeded to do an awkward butt-shuffle down the stairs, using her left leg to keep the weight off her right one. Her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. 

Adrien's laughter was explosive and unconstrained.

"Oh, hush, you're in no place to laugh! It's not like you're helping!" she snapped. He laughed regardless, unable to stop himself. It seemed she couldn't either. Despite trying her hardest to glare at him, Marinette began to laugh too. 

Upon reaching the bottom, he helped her stand up but was shooed away when he tried to help her cross to the sofa. Her little hobble brought a conflicting concoction of worry and amusement rushing into his chest. Adrien flinched when one clumsy step was interrupted by a meek ' _Ow!_ '. He bit his lip to keep himself from either offering his help or laughing again. Adrien didn't want to test her considering how miserable she was starting to look. 

Slumping on the sofa with an air of relief, she blew a strand of hair from her face. "Remind me not to take a side street again."

"That would mean I'd have to visit you again," he replied slyly, falling down next to her. The sofa made a soft  _swoosh_ sound as it accommodated his sudden drop. Marinette pursed her lips, looking contemplative. She seemed to reach a verdict when her pout disappeared. 

"You can only visit if you promise to play _Ultimate Mecha Strike III_ with me. I don't have anyone to play it with now."

"It's a deal." After a moment, he said, "Will your parents be surprised to find a superhero in your living room?"

"Oh, imagine their faces!" Marinette giggled. "But no, they're in Belgium for a confectionery competition. Then they're visiting my Nonna Gina in Calais." 

Resting his head back on the sofa, he asked, "You're not going?"

"No. It's always best to have someone here to watch the bakery, and my Nonna visits for my birthday anyway." Adrien suddenly recollected who Nonna Gina was. Gina Dupain had been akumatised once. She'd become Befana on Marinette's fourteenth birthday. It had been over ten years since then. Adrien suddenly felt very old. 

"That's good then. I wouldn't want to subject your parents to the ethereal beauty that is myself without prior warning." She swatted him with the cuff of her stupendously long jumper sleeve. 

"How does your neck support the weight of your ego?"

He pressed a hand to his chest sincerely, as if it were a great grievance to him. "It doesn't. I am in constant pain." Adrien ducked to avoid another swat, chuckling. She was smirking helplessly at his antics, her palm resting on her forehead in exasperation. 

This Marinette was very different to the one he found drunk on her balcony only a few nights before. She was open with Chat in a way she rarely was with his civilian self. The depressive cloud that had shrouded her was out of sight, aside from the slight wrinkle between her brows where a frown often sat. 

He found himself observing the curve of her mouth as she smiled. The way the light dusting of freckles kissed her nose and the jagged scar twisted the lobe of her ear. The way the jumper swallowed her body and made her look so adorably small. The way her hair fell across her forehead and- 

"Chat?" The furrow between her brows was back.

 _Oh god, I was totally staring_. The tight feeling in his chest vanished as he quickly glanced away, clearing his throat. A blush crept along his cheeks, luckily concealed by his mask. _You are a twenty-five-year-old man, not a fifteen-year-old. Act like it._ "Right," he began awkwardly. His voice caught and broke. Adrien cleared his throat again. Her lips twitched into a confused smile. "I need to take your statement about the, uh... mugging."

Marinette cast him a bemused look. "Huh..?"

 _Smooth, Agreste. Real smooth_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once, I update on time! It's funny that this is my longest chapter yet, and I wrote nearly all of it in the last two days when something nearly half as long can take me a month.
> 
> I was quite excited for this chapter, as it's the first interaction between Mari and Chat, and a lot of things happen in general (not necessarily important things, but things, I guess). Originally, I wasn't going to do Adrien's perspective, but then I wrote about Marinette's jumper and thought that it'd be a good opportunity for attempted humour.
> 
> I hope you liked it! Let me know in the comments.
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	11. A Broken Heart

A little over a week later, Adrien spun in his office chair, fingers steepled under his chin. Sat at another desk and trying to ignore him was Annette, whose fingers were also steepled. As a whole, the atmosphere for the office that day was one that involved a lot of serious, sincere steepling.

Annette flicked through a twenty-four-page document and the attached resumé with apparent interest. "Is this the woman we met at the Louvre?" she asked. Annette had glasses that she wore only when she needed to read the fine print, and they were slipping down her nose as she read. Apparently, she'd given up the battle to keep them pushed up her nose. 

"Yup."

"And you're sure she's cut out for this?"

"Yup."

"How on earth are you the CEO of this company?" said Annette curtly and with an expected amount of exasperation. Reluctantly, he ceased his spinning to look at her. Her teal and lilac hair was fading, and the roots around her temples were grey where the rest of the root was black. Stress lines creased her forehead and mouth, and sleepless bruises hugged under her eyes.

"She already knows about the concepts of the project. I told her. I have her consent and interest in the project, and I trust her. Now, unless you want me to sue my friend, I suggest we finalise this contract before the wheels on my chair fall off," he replied. 

Over the rim of her spectacles, Annette scowled at him. "You should've asked before bringing in a new designer without my consent. It is _my_ project, and in my honest opinion, Haruhi Sato is much more qualified for this position than Miss Dupain-Cheng  _and_ she's cleared her schedule especially for us."

Adrien sighed. "I'm bringing Sato in any way. Hyun-Gi Kim from the Seoul design team quit the other day to join Delacour's new department in Busan." 

Another scowl from Annette. "And you didn't think to tell me?"

"I left you a post-it on your monitor but you threw it away."

"A post-it isn't sufficient notice!"

"I also sent you three e-mails, one of which was the resignation notice that I forwarded from Hyun-Gi himself," said Adrien. It was his turn to frown. "What's wrong with you? You've been riled up all week."

Burying her face in her hands, Annette sighed tiredly. "Sorry, I just... my mother's health has been acting up so she's going into hospital at the weekend."

"I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

"Not unless you can find a babysitter that's not fourteen or doesn't charge a huge sum for a days work. My mother is the one who cares for Fabienne during the day, but she can't look after her while she's in hospital."

Mulling this over, Adrien neatened a stack of papers on his desk. With Karen Beaumont and Haruhi Sato flying in later that week, there was a lot of paperwork to get through: work Visas, accommodation, finalising their contracts, organising daily transportation and copious other things that came up when bringing in employees. Grabbing a pen, he quickly finished signing one of the topmost papers before leaning back in his chair again, tapping the pen absently against his lips. "She could come here."

"What?" Annette looked up from her hands. 

He shrugged. "It's a temporary solution. Once we begin the first production of the runway-only items, we obviously can't have anyone who's not covered by insurance in the work area. But, if you think you can handle your work and your daughter while you're here, then Fabienne can come here. We can set up a Moses basket in the break room and everything, if that's what you need."

A completely blank expression settled on Annette's face. It was mesmerising how unnerving it was when she wasn't expressing some strong emotion. Suddenly, as if seized by some force of productivity, Annette scribbled a signature on Marinette's contract and slammed it down on his desk. He flinched. Then, rushing forward, she hugged him eagerly. 

"Thank you. Thank you so much," she muttered gratefully. 

"Are you... tearing up?"

Annette pulled away, drying her eyes. "Definitely not. That would be unprofessional."

"I've literally been sat spinning in my chair for about thirty minutes," said Adrien, squinting at her. As if to back him up, his chair squeaked rather pitifully.

"Professionalism at its finest from our lovely CEO."

He pointed accusatorially at her. "You're fired. Insubordination. I'm hiring Fabienne in your place."

"My daughter's only just turned two!"

"What can I say? She's a designing prodigy," sighed Adrien wistfully. He had to duck to avoid the pen she launched at him, holding up his hands to shield his face. "Assaulting a senior member of staff is also grounds for termination!"

"Kiss my ass!" she said with a laugh.

Adrien scrunched his nose. "Gross, I don't know where it's been! G-e-e-erms!" Annette clucked her tongue and launched another piece of stationery. 

"You're infuriating."

"One of my many charms."

 

* * *

 

Hours later, as the time rolled up to ten o'clock, Adrien finished up the last of the paperwork over a postponed dinner. After finishing work late again, he and Plagg had had to order some food before they started gnawing on the furniture in their hungry fervour. Now, Plagg lay sprawled on a chair, groaning, after eating three entire wheels of Camembert.

No wonder the catering staff gave Adrien odd looks when they passed him in the foyer. 

With a yawn, Adrien stretched out the tightness in his shoulders. It had been a long day, and although he was tired, he wasn't prepared for the day to be over. After spending so much of his time working, it didn't feel as if it had been another day at all. It was as if he'd slept his way through fourteen hours of work. 

Perhaps that was all his life boiled down to. Wake up, work, then sleep. Rinse and repeat. 

It had been that way since he'd taken over the company. Now that he reflected on it, it seemed abysmal. Nothing broke that strict, repetitive cycle, aside from the odd excursion as Chat and the time he occasionally spent with Marinette. Adrien was twenty-five and didn't feel like he'd lived his life at all. It was lived for him or passed him by while he was trapped in the cycle. 

"You look like you got slapped in the face by a wet fish," said Plagg, interceding his compellingly depressing internal monologue. Adrien couldn't even bring himself to change his expression.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means you look miserable, yet confused."

"Great. Thanks, Plagg."

Plagg looked up from his cheese-induced stupor. Blinking lazily, he said, "You know what you need?" Adrien didn't reply. "Cheese."

It was his turn to groan. 

Grabbing the TV remote from the coffee table and abandoning his empty plate beside the stack of papers, Adrien flicked through channel after channel before settling on Nadja Chamack's late night special. It wasn't about anything that struck him as particularly entertaining - he suspected that was why it was on so late at night - but it did have lots of stock video of fighting and shooting. It took him ten minutes to realise that Nadja's show was about growing violence in Paris. 

That caught his attention more than the bland ten-minute intro. 

Of course, there was no real footage of this 'growing violence' throughout the whole programme, but Adrien figured that the evidence was there, considering the fact that Marinette had been stabbed a little over a week ago. 

Part of him felt guilty that he hadn't visited her since then. With the ever-present stress about the project and the mounting workload, Adrien had barely had time to breathe let alone find the time to visit. Sure, he'd shot her a few texts throughout the week and she'd assured him she was fine. 

Still, with her parents away for another fortnight, Adrien felt a little guilty about not seeing her. After all, she was alone at the bakery with no company, and he hadn't bothered to drop by. 

 _She's fine_ , he thought, _she's practically made of steel._

Not for the first time, he found himself recalling how she'd stitched her own leg wound. Even the thought of doing that to himself made him feel sick to his stomach, let alone putting that thought into practice. How mesmerised he'd been by her sheer bravery when he hadn't even the courage to look at her while she did it. 

Leaning back on the sofa, he brushed his thumb across his lips contemplatively. There was something about Marinette that was... off. It wasn't necessarily 'off' in a bad way, just in the sense that she seemed familiar, even beyond their long acquaintance.  

He was drawn to her. It was a strange feeling, like a slight tug in the middle of his chest, but Adrien felt that he couldn't walk away from Paris. Not yet. Not until he'd figured out what it was. 

It tormented him as to why he felt so conflicted all of a sudden; his plans about Paris had always been set in stone. Yet there he was, far too curious about a former classmate for his plans to remain certain. 

Adrien growled in frustration, running his hands down his face. 

"Can't you simmer quietly?" complained Plagg. He was watching the TV with feigned interest, as it was the only thing around to entertain him. 

Adrien got to his feet, suddenly decided. "I'm going out."

"What?" The kwami didn't look away from the TV. 

"Plagg, claws out!"

 

* * *

 

Visiting Marinette Dupain-Cheng at daringly late hours of the night was one thing, but sitting on the rooftop across from hers, staring through her window, was another. 

Now he was actually there, any determination Adrien may have had less than ten minutes ago had completely abandoned him, leaving him helpless in the dark. He sighed. 

Adrien had decided that since being Adrien sucked considerably and being Chat sucked considerably less so, he'd start visiting Marinette as Chat Noir, largely because his life wasn't already complicated enough and Marinette seemed to be more willing to talk openly to a certain black cat. 

As it turned out, putting that into practice was a little difficult. 

How could he justify randomly turning up at her house whenever it pleased him? Sure, he could be checking up on her after, y'know, carrying her home after she got stabbed. But, hey-ho, that excuse didn't swing more than once, right? 

Adrien buried his face in his hands. With a groan, he thought, _Get a grip, Agreste._ He was a twenty-five-year-old man acting like some sort of flustered teenager. 

It was a little too chilly, however, to spend the rest of the night mentally chastising himself on a rooftop. He either had to go inside or go home. No alternatives. No 'ifs' or 'buts'. 

_Annette was right. How am I a CEO?_

Hopping over to the circular window that looked down into her room, he pushed it and found it was unlocked. Then he saw Marinette.

He considered entering, but hesitated. Instead, he observed, too shamefully curious to interrupt. Whatever was happening in Marinette's room, it seemed too private to interrupt, but was also too compelling to just turn around and leave. Neither his conscience nor himself as a whole were too impressed with his new-found spying abilities. 

Marinette was sat by her desk. One of the drawers was pulled open. She cradled what appeared to be a takeout menu in her hands for a moment, reading it. Once it was safely tucked back into the drawer, she held something up in front of her to examine it. A ring. It was small and delicate, glinting in the lamplight like a tiny star. The expression on her face was pained. The moment encapsulated her.  Marinette stood up so quickly that her chair toppled over.  He could feel her fury from where he stood. It was venomous, unbridled and fuelled only by grief.

The ring was volleyed across the room with a shout. Anything she could get her hands on was thrown. Desk drawers were tipped out and trampled. Her lamp toppled from the desk and shattered. Marinette seized the takeout menu in her fists and tore it again and again and again until it was nothing but shreds of multicoloured confetti floating to the ground. And as quickly as she started, Marinette stopped. 

She collapsed to the ground, grabbing at the remains of the menu in panic and shouting hysterical, incoherent words. Then the tears came. Silent sobs wracked her body as she buried her head in her hands. Her fists battered the sides of her head. 

His heart ached. 

Not once in his foolish mental ramblings had he considered that maybe Marinette wouldn't want to see him, as either Adrien or Chat Noir. He didn't need to be looking over her shoulder all the time, wondering if he should visit because there was no one else who he _could_ see outside of work. Yet there Marinette was, all her family and friends too far away to help her or - like him - just never visited.

Part of him was glad that he _was_ there, though.

She looked so alone; a small, slouched island in the vast, turbulent mess of her room. 

Silently, he crept through the window and approached her in a crouch. She said nothing as he consoled her. Marinette was shaking and staring at her hands, her tears falling silent in horror. "I-I tore it. What did I-? What did I _do_?" 

Adrien looked towards the shredded paper and tried to make sense of it. It wasn't legible.

"I'll help you fix it," he offered softly. 

Her voice was hoarse, a whisper so quiet that he could hardly hear it. "Thank you." 

Clutching her tighter, he soothed the mussed hair behind her ear. Marinette's cries continued, muffled in his shoulder, but they gradually grew quieter and quieter. The hysterical hiccoughs brought on in her panic ceased, and she began to calm down. 

Finally drawing out of the hug, Adrien held her at arm's length, dipping his chin to get a better look at her face. 

Marinette's face was puffy and blotched with red, tears leaving her cheeks damp and raw. Emptiness was the only recognisable thing in her eyes. They were so bloodshot that they looked somewhat bluer. Her nose must've been running too because she swiped it miserably with a hanky she retrieved from her pocket before drying underneath her eyes. 

"I'll be fine," she muttered. Her voice was practically inaudible. Adrien wasn't sure whether she was trying to convince him or reassure herself. That was probably the worst part of the whole ordeal. The resigned withdrawal and acceptance of the pain, bottled out of sight. It had built up and up and up until it had all exploded forth at once. Now it had all been let out, she seemed empty. All the fight had left her. 

Drawing her knees to her chest, she isolated herself from him. The blankness of her stare pierced his chest like a thorn, pricking sharply against his heart.

The helplessness he felt was irritating. Here he was, watching his friend suffering and feeling absolutely useless in the face of that suffering. 

"Why are you here?" She still didn't look at him.

Adrien cleared his throat. "I wanted to check up on you."

"Are you satisfied with your findings?" Marinette asked, sounding somewhat bitter. He looked away bashfully. She sniffled. "Didn't think so."

He hid his hurt away; it wasn't a priority now. She could be as cold as she wanted or needed to be, but he wasn't going anywhere. Not until he knew she was okay. "Do you-" Adrien paused uncertainly. Her vacant expression didn't shift. "- need anything?"

Blue eyes met his, so vacuous and glassy that they didn't begin to compare to how bright and animated they usually were. "Can you lock the door downstairs? I... forgot," she asked bluntly. 

He complied without hesitation. 

It was obvious, even to someone as unobservant as himself, that Marinette didn't want him there. All she wanted was to be alone. Now, that wasn't to say that he was going to leave. Sometimes, the times you feel you want to be alone are often the times you most needed comfort. Knowing someone was there when and if you needed them was comfort enough. 

The living room plunged him into complete darkness. Marinette must've been upstairs long enough that no lights had been turned on. He spent a few minutes looking for the light switch, which was in a rather odd place, practically tucked under the painting beside the door from the landing. The dark had never been something that he'd particularly enjoyed. Even with his Chat Noir night vision, his fear had never quite abated. It had scared him as a child, and that same unreasonable fear nagged at him even then. His mind conjured up impossible images of supernatural beings grabbing him, shrouded in darkness. 

Finally, the lights came on, confirming that there were, in fact, no demons about to snatch him up.

Adrien sighed in relief, which made him feel far too foolish for his own liking. Chat Noir, hero of Paris, afraid of the dark. Ironic. Oh, how Ladybug would've laughed.

Steeling himself once more to complete his task, Adrien decided that it was best to hurry. In her state, he didn't like the thought of leaving Marinette alone for too long. The haunting emptiness of her expression had been seared into his mind. He hadn't liked it. That emptiness was dangerous. Adrien knew that all too well. 

Upon reaching the downstairs, he checked the bakery door and the side entrance. Better safe than sorry to check both. While the bakery was locked, as he'd anticipated, the side door wasn't. The keys, however, were inconveniently absent from the hook beside the door. 

Why was he not surprised? 

The keys - he discovered after fifteen minutes of searching - were stuck between the sofa cushions in the living room. How they got there was beyond him, but he decided not to question it and was finally able to lock the door. 

He huffed impatiently. Why was such a simple task so time-consuming? It should've taken him two minutes, and he'd been gone at least twenty. Ridiculous.

Deciding that considering he'd already been gone twenty minutes and doubted Marinette would miss him for a few more, Adrien made two mugs of hot chocolate before heading back up to her room.

It went to waste. Marinette was curled up on the floor, fitfully asleep. Her hands were clenched as if she expected a fight. The paper confetti was artfully arranged on the carpet, no longer illegible. For the moment, he ignored it.

Adrien set down the mugs on her desk before carefully scooping her off the floor. The ladder to her bed was too perilous. Instead, he put her down on the chaise and covered her with the blanket folded over the back of it. He removed the ring that she now clutched fervently in her palm and put it back in the drawer for safe keeping. The pang in his chest bothered him, but it wasn't a priority. 

He went to scoop up the confetti of the takeout menu too, but stopped himself. Marinette had painstakingly rearranged each fragment until the menu was whole again. It wasn't anything special. Just an A4 piece of multicoloured paper, printed with food deals and specials. But Adrien recalled what she'd said before, when he'd found her drunk on her balcony. 

" _I came home from working my shift to find a note, scrawled on the back of a takeout menu. It gave me six words explaining why he left me, and two days to pack my things and leave._ "

And here it was. 

That very same menu, with the very same note, scrawled quickly on the back in permanent marker, partly obscured by both the damage and the brightly printed colours. It had crushed her, that note, yet nearly a year later she still kept it hidden in a drawer, along with her engagement ring and a photo album bound in beautiful embossed paper that Adrien was far too proud to snoop through.

" _Marinette,_

_I need to think of myself. Please pack your things and leave by Thursday. I've already gone._

_\- Nathaniel_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a reveal! 
> 
> I wasn't sure who Marinette's ex-fiance was going to be for a while. Naturally, my first assumption was Nath, but I also considered an OC, Theo... a lot of people, basically. But Nath was the ultimate choice. 
> 
> Tomato boy may be OOC a little and I feel bad because he's so precious, but y'know... plot
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	12. Beginning & End

The following morning, Adrien greeted Annette with a tired smile. 

After staying at Marinette's until the early hours of the morning to ensure she was okay, he hadn't gotten much sleep. Even upon returning to the mansion, the events of the night had troubled him, and sleep had been staved off, evading him until dawn began to break. 

As such, the sun didn't shine through the face of Adrien Agreste that particular day. 

If Annette noticed, she didn't say anything. In that respect, she was kinder than Plagg, who had been more than happy to chew him out for his extended time as Chat Noir _and_ his bedraggled appearance. 

Chewing a piece of dry toast, Annette looked just as tired as he did. Ah, the perks of early mornings during a bad week. Without looking up from the computer monitor, she asked, "When do the design team get here?" 

The desk chair seemed to groan under his weight as he flopped into it. "A few hours. Karen Beaumont landed yesterday, but because of jet-lag, she's postponed her start until this afternoon. Sato is en-route as we speak and her plane is landing at nine o'clock."

"Marinette?"

"Starts next Monday. I haven't finished her paperwork yet."

"That's three more working days of being understaffed. If we don't have the design portfolio and paperwork properly finished before the Halloween deadline-"

"I'm more than aware of the consequences if this falls through, Annette," said Adrien, "and I've said I'll take responsibility for it if it does. Don't worry, she'll pull her weight, and I'm taking extra work home this weekend to make sure we're on track."

Squinting at him, Annette put down her toast. "You're serious?"

"Don't tell anyone, I have a reputation to uphold," he replied, feigning a look of horror. She smirked and tossed a bit of crust at him.

"Everyone who doesn't know you thinks you _are_ serious. You remember the meeting at the Gherkin. They were _terrified_ of you, at least a little bit. If anything, this would just affirm your whole 'Mr Serious Businessman' aura you have at meetings."

Adrien sniffed. "So now I'm a stickler."

"No, you just looked incredibly severe because you'd slicked your hair back for the meeting. The moment you didn't slick it back for our visit to the Louvre, I knew you weren't as much of a stickler as I'd thought," said Annette cheerfully. At his indignant expression, she only laughed.  

The hours rolled around and together they cleared their usual morning routine of filing and re-filing the obscene amount of paperwork. Annette drained more than half the coffee pot in that time, but she did manage to properly organise the original design portfolio. Over the past few weeks, each design page had grown increasingly crowded where ideas had spilt onto every spare inch of paper and off onto post-its. For at least four days, Annette had been painstakingly rewriting and organising every single page in a neat format, colour-coordinating several copies of it to give to the design team upon their arrival. 

Adrien was slowly but surely dealing with his overflowing inbox. As it turned out, he'd missed at least six e-mails from the board regarding the new project. In the height of his professionalism, Adrien marked them as unread and pretended he hadn't seen them. The board hadn't been particularly nice about the new project - it wasn't _Gabriel_ enough for them - and had taken to writing obscenely long e-mails in an attempt to bully him into forgetting the project altogether. 

He'd deal with them at a later date. His top priority was to successfully launch the project, not coddle a bunch of old men who wouldn't see potential even if it tap-danced naked in front of them. 

The clock had rolled around to 12:30 p.m before anything of excitement happened. 

Annette had just finished draining the remaining half of the coffee pot and Adrien was enjoying a short break, working his way through a bowl of microwave popcorn while playing Candy Crush, when Haruhi Sato turned up. The lift gave a pleasant ding to announce her arrival.

They stood to greet her. Sato approached them confidently, her long black hair bouncing on her shoulders. "Good afternoon," she greeted, giving them both a strong handshake and a toothy smile. "Sorry, I am slightly late. My flight landed later than expected."

"Quite alright," said Annette. She seemed to have taken an immediate liking to Haruhi, judging by her expression. "I'm Annette Bergé: head designer."

Adrien smiled. "Nice to see you again, Sato."

"And you, Agreste."

 

* * *

 

As mid-afternoon arrived, so did Karen Beaumont. She rolled in, fashionably later than promised, with a coffee in hand and murder in her blue eyes. Her steel grey hair slashed a severe line at the base of her chin, accentuating her equally severe features. Her crisp black pantsuit did little but emphasise her domineering presence. Karen Beaumont was notoriously fierce and Adrien would be lying if he said she was a woman to be trifled with. That, she definitely was _not_. A force of nature in herself, she was revered for being the most intimidating designer in the industry.

Despite this, no one shrank away or slouched beneath the blanket of her sudden presence. If anything, Annette and Haruhi seemed intrigued. A small smirk played on Annette's mouth. "Now _that_ , ladies and gents, is an entrance," she said proudly. 

"Mademoiselle Beaumont. It's great to see you again," Adrien greeted with an uncertain smile. Karen gave him an icy once over but eventually accepted his offered handshake. That woman gave Adrien goosebumps. He was only surprised a clap of thunder or intense orchestral music didn't follow her arrival. He winced slightly. "Glad to see you haven't changed."

She cleared her throat. "It's nice to meet you all, aside from you, sir." Adrien swallowed. He wasn't sure if she was referring to their previous acquaintance, or if she was saying she wasn't pleased to see him. "I hope we can work effectively together as a team." 

No one replied, all a little awestruck. 

Karen sipped her coffee, nonchalant. "There is an extra desk?" she inquired.

"We have another designer joining us next week," he explained. 

"Next week? Rather unprofessional to not have properly cleared their schedule. Late starts will delay the project," replied Karen with a sharply raised brow. _Oh, she is most definitely judging me_ , he thought. 

"Um... she was only verified yesterday. That's why-" She cut him off with a sigh, clearly dismissing any further discussion on the subject. It was no secret that Beaumont wasn't overly keen on him. They'd met a few times previously, and she'd made several comments about his lack of professionalism at times. Of course, it had been years since they'd worked together and Adrien thought he'd improved a great deal in that period, but Karen was clearly unimpressed so far. 

Great. 

With that out of the way, Karen introduced herself to the other two designers. Her proper introduction to Annette was much warmer than his, if slightly judgemental. For a long minute, Karen stood in silence, wordlessly critiquing Annette's flamboyant hair with pursed lips. Otherwise, all was well. 

Annette grinned pointedly at him and Karen. Oh, how she would exploit his discomfort. 

Sato and Beaumont regarded each other uncertainly, but their professional courtesy didn't waver. They shook hands in mutual respect and sat at adjoining desks. 

They were in complete juxtaposition to each other. Where Karen was all hard-lines and monochrome, sitting pin straight at her desk, Haruhi was all curls and flounce and pink patterned blouses. It was difficult to find a pair of designers that were so dissimilar. 

Yet despite their differences, they seemed to take somewhat of a liking to each other, and considering their stellar reputations both in the company and the fashion industry as a whole, Adrien knew their opposing qualities would in no way impede on their designing capabilities. 

Things seemed as if they would go well.

Sure enough, the following few hours worked seamlessly. Karen and Haruhi didn't seem as if they'd only begun the project that day. They were efficient. 

Sat like a cat who'd got the cream, Annette was flying through her work. With the files evenly distributed between the four of them, the final leg of the first stage of the project was in their grasp. For the first time since it had started, Adrien felt like they might actually finish it by the Halloween deadline. 

By the time it was 6:00 p.m and, therefore, an hour before they were due to go home, the entire design team was ahead of schedule. It put everyone in a good mood, particularly him and Annette. Haruhi had stopped working over ten minutes previously to answer a phone call. Annette had come back from the coffee shop with everyone's orders and a bag of beignets, distributing them evenly on everyone's desks. Karen prodded at her beignet with distaste and settled back into her work without eating it. 

 _Well_ , he thought, _you can't please everyone_.

Half an hour later, Sato was still video-chatting with her husband and her cat when Adrien's phone began to ring. Annette and Karen both looked up from their work with matching severe expressions, clearly not impressed with the level of cellular interruption in the office. 

With an apologetic and sheepish smile, he swept his thumb across the screen to answer the phone. "Bonjour. This is Adrien Agreste," he answered, adopting his most professional tone. It was an unknown number, so it was best to put on his 'CEO voice' as Annette called it. 

"Monsieur Agreste? Do you have a moment?" The voice at the other end of the line was familiar, but not in the way that it was someone he knew. It was simply the voice of someone he'd met a long time ago. Considering this for a short moment, he ran his tongue over his teeth contemplatively. 

His brows knitted together. "That depends on the nature of the call. May I ask who's calling, please?" 

Annette looked up from her work, this time without irritation, as if sensing his change in mood. She matched his expression and silently mouthed, ' _Who is it?_ '

Frowning, he waved her tacit questioning away and stood, turning his back on the team as he wandered over to the studio windows. The sun had set and the white light of the moon was combating the yellow haze of the Parisian night lights. The street below the studio was heaving with late rush-hour traffic. The occasional car horn blared through the evening air.

The phone-line crackled. "This is _La Santé_ Prison's psychiatric wing and-"

"How did you reach this number? Nathalie Sancoeur is his emergency contact, not me," Adrien cut in, a little ice seeping into his voice. 

"With all due respect sir, Mademoiselle Sancoeur is not his immediate family and, as such, is not authorised to be contacted in this nature. You arehis only immediate family." The tone of the voice didn't change, either not noticing his coldness or electing to ignore it. They meant business. 

Refusing to acknowledge the anxious twist in his chest, he sighed impatiently. "Well, what do you want? Make it quick." Despite the snappishness of his tone, Adrien felt only slightly guilty, and the person on the end of the line didn't seem concerned. 

They cleared their throat. "We're calling to let you know that your father's health has declined to a point of concern. The exact nature of his illness we can't disclose over the phone for confidentiality reasons. However, it is serious and we request you visit at the soonest possible convenience."

The bluntness of the request stunned him into silence. The back of his throat felt like it was swollen and dry all of a sudden. Dread settled in his stomach, leaving nausea in its wake. 

"Monsieur Agreste, are you still there?"

"I can be there within the hour," he managed. His voice was empty. His mind was racing a mile a minute. 

"Thank you, if I could-" Adrien hung up. 

Shoving his phone into his blazer pocket, Adrien inclined his head, staring at his clasped hands for a moment. The office had fallen eerily silent behind him. Even Sato's phone had been silenced. 

"Adrien?" called Annette tentatively. Sharply, he looked over his shoulder at her. At his thunderous expression, she flinched slightly. "What is it?"

Adrien headed back to his desk and grabbing his satchel, he stuffed the file he was working on inside it along with his phone. Tugging his coat from where it hung on the back of his chair and pulled it on, adjusting the collar and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Something's come up."

And with that, he left the office without another word. 

 

* * *

 

The Gorilla was waiting outside for him.

Obviously, the caller had been a liar. Nathalie must've known something about the situation to send the Gorilla. It didn't surprise him. Although she'd fallen out of favour with him after he discovered how she'd turned a blind eye to his father's criminal behaviour, he knew that Nathalie had still kept an ear to the ground regarding both himself and his father. She had her resources and contacts; there was nothing that anyone could trace back to her. That way, when his father was sent down, Nathalie managed to avoid incarceration herself.

Of course she knew. 

His thoughts were racing as he climbed into the back of the car. The Gorilla immediately started driving. Sitting back, Adrien rested his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. 

Being as busy as he was, the last thing Adrien needed was impromptu excursions to a prison. The last thing the project needed was bad press or a huge scandal because the hypothetical lid on the simmering pot of Agreste family drama wouldn't stay on. 

No. That wouldn't - couldn't - happen. Seven years of blood, sweat and tears went into rebuilding his father's godforsaken fashion powerhouse. He refused to put that to waste. Regardless of the situation, he swore to himself that the company and the project came before everything, even his wastrel of a father. Even himself. 

He opened his eyes.

Plagg stuck his head out of the satchel. For once, his expression wasn't overly sardonic. If anything, he looked a little concerned. "You seem far too angry about this," whispered Plagg. The kwami glanced at the Gorilla to ensure he hadn't noticed the extra voice. "What's left a bee in your bonnet?"

Adrien looked out of the window, decidedly ignoring the kwami. There was a strong possibility that he was overreacting, but he didn't care. The contempt he felt for his father had aged like fine wine. 

For years, Gabriel Agreste had been a monstrous figure in his mind; he was never a man as much as a shadow. Fear made his father seem like some sort of Machiavellian overlord, untouchable and iniquitous. He envisioned a lone tower as his father's prison, guarded by coils of barbed wire and security guards with large weapons. His father, rabidly clutching metal bars, spittle foaming at the corners of his mouth as he cackled. Perhaps it was the fear that had kept him away. It was also a possibility that he'd watched _The Silence of the Lambs_ one too many times. Yet the niggling voice in the back of his mind reminded him of the power of Hawkmoth and what destruction he had been capable of.

Yet here he was, on some asinine journey to the very place he'd been avoiding since his father's incarceration. 

 _La Santé_ Prison. 

The car pulled down _Rue de la Santé_ ten minutes later. Blocks of what he assumed were flats stood on one side of the street. On the other, a wall of mottled brown stone standing two stories high lined the entire street. It was an imposing sight. 

Digging the black box from the bottom of his satchel, he slipped off his ring and put it inside before dropping the box back into his satchel. He always carried the box with him for instances such as this. It was rarely used, but well worth the caution. Jewellery caused problems when being searched, and a kwami was bound to raise a few extra questions. 

They stopped outside the entrance, a huge grey door that stood half the height of the wall. Some guards were waiting outside for them. Within minutes, Adrien had been escorted inside the building. After being thoroughly searched, a guard that was as big and silent as the Gorilla took Adrien to what he assumed was the psychiatric wing.

For a fraction of Gabriel's first year of imprisonment, he'd inhabited a cell in the "VIP" section of _La Santé_. Despite the weight of his charges, he wasn't heavily guarded. After all, Hawkmoth's power came from his Miraculous. Without it, what harm could he do? 

For the remaining nine years or so, the psychiatric wing had housed him. Nathalie had said that Gabriel had had a massive mental breakdown after only three months in prison. Adrien hadn't visited or seen his father since the final court date that sent Gabriel Agreste to prison for life. He hadn't even visited when his father had the meltdown. Call him coarse or selfish, he didn't care. Gabriel Agreste had ruined him.

A woman, whose ID and white uniform declared her as a member of Gabriel's care team, approached him with a forced smile. She had a look in her dark eyes that was familiar. It was the look someone gave you when they were about to deliver bad news: sympathetic, wary and a little detached. "Monsieur Agreste. I'm Maria Alvarez, the head of your father's care team. It's nice to finally meet you," she greeted. Her smile faltered at his empty stare. Adrien knew he was being rude, but his tongue felt swollen in his mouth again and he couldn't open his mouth to reply. Nevertheless, Maria persisted, smoothing her uniform with her hands. "Your father is... in a delicate state. I'm glad you could make it."

Everything fell silent for a long moment. Adrien cleared his throat. "What's wrong with Gabriel?" was all he managed to force out before his throat closed up again. 

Maria grabbed a chart from the wire basket beside the cell door. For a minute, she flipped through sheets of what he assumed were medical documents. "Gabriel received a full physical following a bout of severe shoulder pain and general ill health. It was difficult to discern what was wrong at first - he's not an easy man to talk to - but after narrowing down his symptom and performing a biopsy, we determined that your father has Stage Four lung cancer."

The silence came again in full force. The words seemed to echo in the large room. A myriad of emotions reacted in his chest, building pressure. "Okay," he heard himself say. 

Maria frowned. "I don't think you understand. Gabriel's condition is deteriorating rapidly, and he's refusing palliative treatment. It's as if his body has just given up," she said. "We don't think he has long."

Adrien pursed his lips, nodding. There was a ringing in his ears. A numbness was spreading through his body. It was as if he was on auto-pilot rather than acting of his own volition. "Okay," he said again. He'd adopted his business persona, refusing to let his turmoil show on his face. "And why couldn't this be said over the phone?"

Maria looked shocked, appalled even. To her credit, she didn't slap him, though she looked as if she wanted to. After caring for his father for so long, it was possible that she'd grown to sympathise with the broken old man that Gabriel had apparently become. Adrien knew better. "Monsieur-"

"I'm a busy man, madame-"

"Please-"

"- and I have no interest in being here, which I made explicitly clear from the minute Gabriel was arrested."

"He's been asking for you, monsieur. While you're here, humour him at least."

He looked at Maria stonily. Her expression was earnest. "You ask too much, Madame Alvarez."

"I'm not asking you to reconcile, monsieur. He may not even recognise you," said Maria. "Please. Five minutes of your time. It's been nearly ten years."

Electing not to reply, Adrien crossed his arms. The head carer nodded to the guard, who unlocked the cell. 

Conflict raged in his head. Every fibre of his being pleaded with him not to go into the cell, to not let the pleadings of Gabriel's carer get to him. His arms prickled, burning beneath the strain of resisting his better judgement. The niggling voice in the back of his mind, the tiny one he'd been suppressing for so long, had finally found its time to shine. It urged him to take that step. It _had_ been a decade. It was time.   

God, how he wished he had Plagg with him. 

A long exhale. A clasp of his hands. 

He walked into the cell, eyes downcast. A beat turned into a minute. It took him even longer to force his eyes from the floor. 

The monstrous image of his father was obliterated instantly.

Gabriel Agreste was gaunt and haggard. He was curled up on the bed, birdlike and malnourished, a mere ghost of the imposing man he once was. His skin looked grey under the fluorescent lights, and his hair hung in limp, straw-like strands around his bony face. The man before him was a mere shadow of the world-famous fashion mogul. There was little resemblance between father and son now. 

'Cell' was a rather loosely applied term, too. The room was more medical than anything else. It reeked of strong disinfectant and anti-bacterial gel. Gabriel's bed was a hospital issue. It didn't have any of the fancy equipment you might see in a medical programme. No heart monitor or IV pole. There was only the CPAP machine beside his bed drizzling oxygen through the cannula in his nose. Every breath was a death rattle as cancer corrupted his lungs. 

Maria moved closer to the bed. "Gabriel, you have a visitor."

He didn't reply. 

"It's your son, Gabriel," she persisted. Movement, at last. 

His father turned his head slowly as if it hurt him to do so. When his grey eyes found Adrien, there was no recognition in them for a long moment. The emptiness in his eyes stung. Whenever he thought of his father, his eyes were always sharp as a tack, alive and analysing. For once, he believed Nathalie's words. 

This Gabriel was a broken man. 

His identity finally seemed to click. His father stirred, rolling his body slightly to face Adrien, preventing the need to move his head further. Each movement clearly pained him. "Adrien?"

Adrien didn't reply. 

"Adrien, it's so good to see you-" Gabriel broke into a fit of gurgling coughs. The force of them shook his entire body. By the time the strenuous fit was over, his clammy forehead was gleaming with sweat. 

He'd forgotten what his father's voice sounded like. To hear it again made his nose sting as tears gathered behind his eyes. Something like resentment or pity or hurt replaced the numbness that had spread through his body. 

"Nathalie said that-"

Adrien laughed. It was a short, humourless thing that sounded unpleasant in the empty space of the cell. 

"- you're the CEO of _Gabriel_ now." 

"Don't do that," said Adrien. The calmness of his voice surprised him. 

"Do what?" Gabriel frowned slightly.

Another strange laugh escaped him. "Pretend like the last ten years didn't happen. Pretend that this is a normal father-son conversation."

"Why not?" said Gabriel blandly. The frown had vanished, replaced by a look of complete vacancy. The nonchalance of it made his blood boil. It had been something his father had done when he was younger. He'd make Adrien explain what he meant if he said something vague as if trying to make him sound unintelligent. It had always made him feel inferior in some way. After a decade, the feeling was still bitterly unwelcome. 

"You're a criminal. You're a terrorist. You've been incarcerated for a decade. And you were a _terrible_ father," Adrien sneered. He couldn't hide his contempt. "None of this screams 'normal', Gabriel."

Nodding grimly, Gabriel set his head back on a pillow. His face was slack and had a sickly, pale pallor. Despite this, Adrien felt no pity for his father or remorse for his curtness. In his opinion, whatever harsh words he had for his father were well justified and long overdue. Even as his father lay ill and dying, Adrien couldn't even summon a sorry word for him. And he resented himself for that, in a way.

"Adrien, you must understand that what I did, I did for your mother. With the Miraculous of Ladybug and Chat Noir, I could have-" Gabriel stopped with a frown. He pressed two thin fingers to his temple and scrunched his face in discomfort. Another bout of coughing. 

Maria crossed the cell to adjust his cannula and check the oxygen levels on the CPAP machine. "Forgot again, Gabe?"

A fluttery smile momentarily touched his lips. "I just... lost my train of thought."

Adrien scowled. "I heard enough," he said coldly. "Perhaps I hoped to hear an apology when I came here. You ruined my life. I expected at least a little remorse."

"Do you not miss your mother?" 

"Of course."

"Then you understand. I would have saved her." The genuine look of earnest on his father's face made an uneasy feeling settle inside his stomach. Hawkmoth had almost destroyed Paris. His father had destroyed everything that their family had. And yet Gabriel Agreste looked him in the eye and honestly believed he had done the right thing. 

"My mother wouldn't have wanted that." Disgust shaped his voice into his father's. The similarity was almost uncanny, and it shocked him for a moment. "You deserve every minute you spend locked up in here."

"Son-"

"I'm not your son, and you're not my father. Not anymore," said Adrien. He looked at Maria, who was watching the exchange with an abashed expression, and tugged the cuff-links of his shirtsleeve. "I'm done here. Show me out."

 

* * *

 

The car ride home was silent. 

He'd rolled down the window to let the air chill some life into him, but was met with the musty dryness of a warm, windless night. Slipping on his ring again, Plagg materialised before him. Adrien had expected some curt words from the kwami but was met with even more silence. Perhaps it was something in his expression that tipped Plagg off to his sour mood, but the kwami quietly slipped into the satchel without so much as a cynical glance. 

The Agreste Mansion loomed before him. It seemed foreign suddenly. Sure, it had never been particularly cosy or homelike, but now it was... foreboding. His lip curled in disgust. One visit to Gabriel had worked its magic, it seemed. 

Nathalie was waiting for him just inside the door, holding her tablet and absently tapping through a timetable. She glanced up, her turquoise eyes piercingly vacant. "Monsieur Agreste. I trust you visited your father?"

Pointedly ignoring her, Adrien stormed past her and up the stairs. "Call the office tomorrow morning. I'll be working from home for the rest of the week."

"Of course-" He shut his bedroom door, refusing to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing him slam it. Plagg peered from the bag before zipping out to hover in front of him, just in time to watch Adrien burst into tears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split this chapter in two because it was getting REALLY long and I need to update. Plus, the ending was nice and succinct so why ruin it? Ah, Adrien, you break my heart. So much hurt. 
> 
> And isn't it odd that I've written so many stories that are either set in France or have a French character? I mean... I've never been to France, nor do I speak French. 
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	13. Dreams Of The Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Violence, Blood mentions etc.

Devastation swept through his body like a virus. Falling limp against the door, his back slid down the door until he crumpled to the floor, head buried in his arms. Sobs seized his chest and he shook with the force of them. The tears came thick and fast and relentless. They dripped off his chin and the tip of his nose, leaving droplets on his shirt. Wave upon wave of desolation escaped him as violent cries, muffled only slightly by the fabric of his sleeves. The sound was primal and painful to hear, even to himself. 

Regret weighed on his chest. His father was dying. His father was dying. _His father was dying_. And all he'd managed to be was cruel. 

 _Idiot. Idiot. Idiot_. 

Panic, senseless and frantic, clawed at his throat. His breath escaped in ragged pants. Pain burned his throat. Running his hands through his hair, he seized fistfuls of it and tugged. The world dissipated around him. Now there was only pain enough to break him and regret enough to swallow him whole. 

Animal cries shuddered from him. 

The panic left him shivering and hysterical. The tears ran and ran and ran. 

 _Worthless. You're worthless_. 

The weight of everything crushed him. His father, unrepentant, was _dying_. Adrien was truly and utterly alone. There was nothing left. 

Then a light touch rested on his arm. 

"Adrien," Plagg said softly, "it's going to be okay."

Blearily, he looked up. His skin was raw and damp and the sudden brightness of the lights stung his watery eyes. "He's dying, Plagg."

"That's not your fault." The green eyes were unusually earnest. Sincerity was a rare thing for Plagg. 

"I told him everything that I thought of him. Everything."

"And he deserved it. Did he even apologise?" When Adrien shook his head, Plagg tutted. "Then he isn't worth your concern."

"He's the only family I have left, Plagg!"

"You've said it before and I'll repeat it now. He's no father of yours. He's proved as much," said Plagg sternly. Wiping his eyes, Adrien stifled his tears as soon as they formed. Some still escaped, tracking pearly lines down his cheeks. He felt pathetic, snivelling on the floor in front of his kwami. The panic attack had left him so rattled that his hands were shaking. 

Plagg sighed and added gently, "You can't blame yourself. You couldn't have stopped him."

"I lived in the same house!" Adrien exclaimed. The tears in his eyes were hot and thick, casting half of his vision into blurs. "I lived metres away from Hawkmoth for nearly two years, Plagg. I could've stopped him. I could've prevented everything that happened."

"You didn't know!"

"I should have! I found the book. I found the Peacock Miraculous in his safe. I _knew_! I knew, deep down, and I did _nothing_!"

"Neither did I! I should've known too and I didn't. Look what happened!" Plagg shouted, losing his temper slightly. "You were just a scared child! I'm thousands of years old! Do you honestly blame _yourself_ for this?"

"Yes!" All of his defiance, his rage, his self-hatred, abandoned him at once. Grief was all he had left. It ached, that emptiness. A lacuna of loss had consumed everything. Balling his fists, he pressed them against his closed eyes, hard enough that tricolour spots danced in his vision. In a quieter, dull voice, he repeated, "Yes. I do." 

The kwami fell into silence. 

Wiping his eyes, he leaned his head against the door. The room was cavernous around him, and he felt pathetically insignificant, a tiny form bunched up on the floor. Outside, the world was dark. Inside, it was too bright. Everything seemed to juxtapose something else and the effort of deciphering it hurt his head. Facing his father had made it hurt more.  

Words filled the hurt he felt inside like it was water rising and rising until it rose up and over his head. The lump in his throat tried to fight them like a plug, but he couldn't stop it. For the first time, he couldn't stop it. 

"I feel guilty. So, so guilty, Plagg. Maybe it's like you said, that I was just a dumb, scared kid who was too scared to see what was right in front of me because... because I'd already lost my Maman and I didn't want to lose him too. I was hurt because my Maman left without explaining why and never came back, and if I could stop my Pére from disappearing too, then I'd... I'd-"

Adrien huffed in frustration as his words escaped him.  

"My father deserved what he got. I just... think that I could've done _more_. Maybe... maybe I could've stopped him and then-"

"Hawkmoth was relentless and unpredictable," interrupted Plagg, "and you know better than anyone that there was no stopping him with reason alone. A slap on the wrist or a stern talking-to wouldn't have made him abandon his cause. Gabriel Agreste misused a Miraculous for his own gain. He knew the consequences. He made his bed, now let him lie in it."

No amount of coercion would've made Adrien admit aloud that Plagg was right. 

He sighed and ran a hand across his jaw. "It's just- I keep thinking about that day, Plagg. Every time I relive it, all I can think about is how I hope it will end differently that time. That it won't end how it did."

The kwami frowned. "It happened a long time ago, Adrien. It's about time you accepted it. No amount of denial is going to change anything," said Plagg sympathetically. "Now, get some sleep. You look like hell."

 

* * *

 

_It was cold. So cold his breath fogged the air in front of him. Ladybug ran, feet ahead of him, her yo-yo spinning. This was it. This was it. He wanted to stop her, to tell her to slow down. They didn't need to rush. He was already waiting._

_He wanted to grab her shoulder. He wanted to look into her eyes as he told her he loved her. He wanted to make cat-astrophic cat puns that made her giggle. He wanted to sit on the bell tower of Notre Dame together, looking down at the city as they often did._

_They were silly little wants, but Chat knew why. They were running at him. At Hawkmoth. Chat wanted to stop her, to do those things, because this was it. The final battle._

_Final._

_The word seemed to reverberate in his ears. Final. The end. This was it. Final had such strong implications. Final meant that either they'd win or they'd lose. A fifty-fifty chance. Hawkmoth's victory came with disastrous consequences. Their victory... what did that hold?_

_Chat wanted to stop her. He loved her. And as they ran towards danger, towards the final, he couldn't help the fear that threatened to paralyse him. Ladybug could die. If Ladybug died, he would rather die too. Hawkmoth could win, or he could die._

_They were running towards as a precipice, and neither knew if they'd survive the fall. The wind picked up, howling and screaming as it whistled over the rooftops. It flung itself at them, almost forcing their feet from under them and threatening to plunge them from the roofs to the concrete waiting far below. It whipped at his hair. It was cold. So cold._

_Chat was still running, hot on the heels of Ladybug, lost in maybes and what-ifs. They were running towards the Eiffel Tower. Its shadow loomed over them, growing and growing as they moved swiftly closer._

_Smoke and effluvia billowed from its base, the pinpoint of the several akuma attacks that day. It had started with an akuma calling itself 'The Match' that torched anything associated with romance, which included the Eiffel Tower. The fires had spread, causing damage to many buildings. One person - a little boy - had been killed. The akuma had ravaged Paris for several hours, starting in the early morning. With the mass terror of the Match spreading like literal wildfire through the city, three other people were also akumatised: Librario, Bludgeon, and Evillatrine (who was, by far, the most disgusting akuma they'd ever come across)._

_It had taken a whole day to deal with the akumas, with Ladybug forced to call upon Rena Rouge for extra help._

_Behind them, they'd left a trail of unprecedented destruction, with three of the twenty arrondissements subjected to immediate emergency evacuation to the outer districts. Havoc was the flavour of Paris that day._

_"Chat!" Ladybug was shouting over the wind. He snapped to, immediately locking eyes with her. Beneath the mask, her fear was evident: her eyes were blown wide, the pupils dilated; her cheeks pale; an uneasy expression warping her features. "There are people trapped at the top of the Eiffel Tower. We need to get them to safety!"_

_Unable to reply - his tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth - he nodded sharply and followed her lead._

_Leaping from the roof, he jammed his staff towards the floor and rocketed himself skywards. The icy resistance of the air nipped his cheeks pink. Soaring, the city seemed to shrink beneath him. At the top of the Tower, it was so cold that he had to brace himself against the chill, tucking his chin down into his chest in an ineffective attempt to preserve whatever warmth remained._

_A man approached them, a young child cradled in his arms, his expression pleading and desperate. "Please, we've been trapped here since the last attack. My daughter... she's not well. You have to help us."_

_Sure enough, when the girl turned her face to observe his arrival, her lips were tinged blue and her nose red and running. The look on her face was so dazed that it concerned him. There was a blankness in her little eyes that should never be found in the eyes of a child._

_He frowned. "We will help everyone get down. Please co-operate with us while we do so," said Chat, feeling somewhat brave. "Sir, I'll take your daughter to the bottom."_

_The man looked hesitantly between Chat and Ladybug. "Can she take her?"_

_He couldn't hide his bewilderment. In a crisis, logic was usually far from thought, but surely the man wanted his daughter safe regardless of who carried her?_ _Did he frighten them? Was it the suit or his powers that had perturbed the man? Was there something wrong with him? Chat failed to understand._

_Ladybug accepted the child and looked hesitantly at him, seeming to observe his stupor. "Chat, we need to take the children down first. Can you get the other one?"_

_Chat nodded. His neck felt stiff._

_The only other child atop the Tower was eager to hop into Chat's arms, climbing up to his shoulders just so she could grab onto his cat ears. She made squawking mews in an attempt to mimic a cat before falling into manic giggles. Clearly, the trials of the afternoon had done little to dampen the child's mood. The mother, whose face was streaked with soot, muttered her apologies and attempted to quell the child's excitement long enough to be carried to the bottom. She even spared Chat a smile. The exchange made the uneasiness in his chest dissipate slightly. Perhaps it had been a one-off after all. Clearly, he hadn't scared_ this _child._

_The girl squealed in exhilaration as he jumped from the top of the Eiffel Tower, gripping her with one arm and his staff with the other. Her childish glee made the day somewhat happier, despite the chaos of it all._

_Upon reaching the bottom, he set her on the ground and ensured she and the other girl were safely left with the police officers that were already on the scene._

_It took them at least half an hour longer to carry the remaining twenty or so people from the top. Anxiety had built to the breaking point in his stomach. It had taken so long to get them all to safety and there had been no sign of another akuma. Chat couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. This was the final battle; Hawkmoth had stated as much himself. Yet here they were, spending the better part of an hour in a state of almost leisurely rescuing._

_Something felt... off._

_Reporters were bustling around the scene, desperately trying to get information, but no one involved was talking. The truth was that no one had anything to say._ _The streets wore the scars of the day's devastation.  Ladybug was yet to use her Lucky Charm, so the disarray from each attack was mounted on the pavements._ _Words weren't needed._

_After tending to the last of the rescued, Ladybug trotted over to him. "Something doesn't seem right about this, does it?" she said, echoing his thoughts._

_He shook his head gravely. "It seems quiet."_

_Ladybug mirrored his expression. There was a crease between her brows that he almost wanted to smooth over with his thumb. At best, she was distracted and anxious. Chat had yet to see her worst. In any case, neither of them were fit to be doing any sort of battle that day. They didn't need to speak to sense each other's exhaustion. It was written in the sooty lines of their faces, the droop of their eyes and the scrape across Chat's cheek. There was surety in the knowledge that it would be a difficult battle, but with both him and his partner fatigued, Hawkmoth would have a significant advantage. The thought didn't sit well with either of them._

_The silence of waiting mounted as each second passed. It was as if they were playing a game of sorts except Hawkmoth had all the winning cards._

_The uneasiness in the air settled like a stone in his stomach. Everyone that clustered around the base of the Eiffel Tower was noticeably nervous, checking their surroundings momentarily and jumping at sudden noises. Chat knew they were right to be afraid - he was too - but he almost wished that he was part of the crowd and not the hero they looked to for comfort._

_A static filled the air, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. On impulse he looked sharply behind him, only to find nothing there. The smell of ozone accompanied the static moments later, as if the world itself was tensing for some kind of storm. It rolled through the crowd and the panic began._

_A small child began to cry somewhere in the square. It was desperate and fearful sound that stirred dread in his heart. Fear ran like an icy trickle down his spine, pooling in his feet._

_The sirens blaring in Paris all suddenly fell silent. Around him, the sussuration of restless feet also ceased, with voices shrinking into a hush. Above it all, the child's cries rang out. A beacon._

_Everyone was waiting and the city was drowned in deafening quietude._

_Chat waited too. The throbbing of his heart pounded his rib-cage. His hands balled fists at his sides, his claws digging crescents into his palms. Despite the warmth of the day, the temperature in the square seemed to have dropped below freezing. His breath escaped in ragged white puffs._

_Ladybug clasped his wrist, her grip like a vice. They shared a glance; they didn't need words to convey that they were thinking the same thing._ Something's coming _._

_How right they were._

_Swarms of purple and black butterflies swallowed the sun and descended on the crowd. Leathery wings brushed his face. Blackness consumed the square. From within the kaleidoscope, frantic cries escaped. The child had stopped crying._

_The scraping and fluttering of thousands upon thousands of paper wings was deafening and despite the fact that she stood less than a metre away, Ladybug was out of sight. Her hand had been snatched away from his wrist._

_He wanted to shout for her, but as soon as he opened his mouth the akumas seemed to rally around him. Chat gave up trying._

_As quickly as they arrived, the dense mass vanished. They ascended rapidly upwards. The mass frothed in the sky, morphing into an indistinct black shape floating in front of the Eiffel Tower._

_Then it formed a face._

_Hawkmoth._

_A feeling of déjà vu seized him. Hadn't Hawkmoth first appeared as a face in the sky, over a year before?_

_The mouth gaped and the city held its breath._

_"This is the end. Face me and surrender, or the city will fall." His voice boomed through the silence like a shock wave. The crowd visibly recoiled from the sound, some muttering fearfully. Anticipation froze them in place, waiting for any further threat. None came._

_The butterflies dispersed, skimming the crowd before vanishing from sight. They were gone as quickly as they came._

_"Come on, we have to follow them!" shouted Ladybug._

_Launching her yo-yo, she swept into the air. Chat was hot on her heels. They had to be fast. One by one the butterflies were quickly disappearing from view. Dusk was falling, making it almost impossible to see the small black akumas in the gloom. The glowing purple tint to their wings was the only indication of their location. Even Chat's night vision did little to help spot them._   _Ladybug was forced to pull back behind him, unable to see them with her monochrome eyesight._

_The glare of streetlights half-blinded him. As far as the eye could see, the smudges of red taillights lit the trailing streets. Normally, the slowness of nighttime Paris would comfort him, but after the trials of the day, Chat saw not comfort but danger._

_If they lost their direct line to Hawkmoth, then there was no telling when the opportunity would next arise to defeat him. A niggling part of Chat hoped that they would lose sight of the akumas. Their exhaustion was slowing them. His legs felt like lead beneath him, each step causing shooting pains. He wished they had time to refuel and plan, but that time was long since passed._

_Chat spotted an akuma. It was heading towards the industrial outskirts of Paris, where clusters of metal warehouses crouched against the wind. It vanished inside a lone warehouse, standing a little apart from the rest. The exterior was unlit and no company branding marked the outside. It was abandoned._

_They came to a halt across the lot from the warehouse, gasping for breath. Chat doubled over, hands resting on his knees, chest heaving for the air it craved._

_"We need... a strategy," he panted._

_Poised, watching the warehouse, Ladybug wiped sweat from her brow. "I don't think there's time. Do you already have one in mind?"_

_Chat shook his head. It made his ears ring. "Just the usual. Defeat our opponent and look flawless doing it." Despite his fatigue, he managed a wink._

_Ladybug managed to conceal a grin just long enough to shoot him a deadpan look. "Good to know you're still in high spirits, chaton."_

_He wasn't. So-called 'high spirits' were far, far away. The lie, however, was worth seeing her smile, especially with the future so undetermined._

_"We don't even know if he's actually in there, do we?" she said. Her voice was somewhat forlorn. It seemed that she had drawn the same conclusion as he had. This was the end._

_"No. I think he wanted it to be like this." They looked at each other. The worry in her eyes made his chest ache in a way he'd never felt before._

_"What if-"_

_"Stop," he interrupted. "If we start worrying too much about what's about to happen, we'll only be distracted. We can do this, m'lady. Together."_

_He offered her his fist, but instead of a fist-bump, Ladybug flew at him and gripped him in a tight embrace. "Together," she whispered._

_A minute later and they were crashing through the skylight of the warehouse, landing in crouches on the factory floor, shattered glass raining around them. The shimmery sound echoed around them. As they'd suspected, the warehouse was devoid of contents, including Hawkmoth._

_The only light in the building filtered through the maw of the broken skylight above them and the rust-holes that peppered the metal walls, the streetlights of Paris attempting to lend their aid in the crusade. With his eyesight, it wasn't too difficult to see but Ladybug was clearly struggling beside him. She was squinting and blinking feebly into the darker shadows, blinded by the sudden darkness._

_"Is he here?" she hissed._

_"No."_

_Suddenly, the faint light from the skylight was blocked and the warehouse plunged into true darkness. The hissing, rustling sound of millions of wings clamouring over each other filled his ears, amplified by the emptiness of the warehouse. The akumas poured through the broken skylight. He'd spoken too soon._

_They landed around them, forming a carpet with their bodies. A particularly dense mass of them frothed in a sphere, depositing a tall figure at the other side of the factory floor._

_Hawkmoth._

_"Can you see him?" Ladybug hissed, panic clutching at her voice. It was evident that she still couldn't see. Unless he found a way to make the warehouse brighter, she stood little chance if Hawkmoth advanced._

_"At your twelve o'clock," he replied._

_Hawkmoth didn't approach. The tip of his staff tapped a tune on the concrete, where he clasped it in front of him. At this distance, it was impossible to discern any facial features other than the brutal curl of a smirk._

_The expression raised the hairs on the back of Chat's neck. It was unnerving, the way it seemed to pierce the gloom. That smirk alone seemed to say that Hawkmoth had already won._

_No one moved._

_It was as if they'd reached a stalemate; no one was willing to stand down but no one was willing to fight either. He fought the urge to fidget. His mother had always told him off for it and if he started to squirm now, it would betray his nerves to their worst enemy._

No _, he thought,_ I won't let him see me afraid. 

_Before anything broke out, he knew that Ladybug needed to see. Otherwise, she was a sitting duck. Chat leapt into action._

_Wedging his staff against the floor, he launched himself back through the skylight. The air outside was fresher than the dust-laden stagnancy of the warehouse. The mustiness made his tongue feel dry. He overshot his mark and vaulted through the air. Fumbling, he twisted into a roll and landed painfully on the metal. Climbing to his feet, he shouted "_ Cataclysm! _" and began to sprint. Running. Running. Running. His feet clanged harshly on the corrugated rooftop. Dragging his hand across the metal, it blackened and crumbled like charcoal behind him. Light poured into the warehouse below._

_Then he was free-falling._

_His staff tumbled from his grasp and the concrete was rapidly rising up to meet him. Shielding his face with his arms, Chat braced for impact._

_At the last second, something snagged his ankle and he recoiled away from the floor like a thrillseeker at the end of a bungee cord. Caught in Ladybug's yo-yo, his ankle twisted painfully. It popped. Pain flared up his leg._

_The yo-yo loosened and whipped back into Ladybug's grip. The fiery determination of her gaze could have petrified Hawkmoth into stone._

_Chat rolled onto his back, sucking air into his lungs and hoping that his erratic heartbeat would calm itself. Too many times that day had he had a brush with death. The tremor in his hands grew worse with each time._

_Upon trying to stand, he noticed the grotesque twist of his ankle. It was almost certainly sprained, but it didn't seem broken or dislocated. He was only grateful that it wasn't his face._

_Hawkmoth charged. The cane stretched out before him like a fencing foil._

_Chat narrowed his eyes. Two could play that game. Throwing himself sideways, he rolled over his shoulder and landed in a crouch beside his staff. Grabbing it fervently, he gritted his teeth and ran at Hawkmoth. The pain in his ankle was agonising, but it was Chat's job to distract Hawkmoth while Ladybug figured out a plan. That was how they'd always operated, only this time, their enemy wasn't akumatised. He didn't plan to change that now._

_Their weapons crossed each other, the metal scraping. Up close, Hawkmoth's eyes were chillingly grey and sharp as a tack. Staring him down, Chat pushed back from the cane with as much force as he could muster. The enemy staggered. His staff jabbed at his vulnerable stomach._

_Regaining his balance, Hawkmoth snarled and lunged, whipping his cane towards Chat's head. He parried and riposted at Hawkmoth's chest._

_Stepping back, he analysed Hawkmoth's stance. His legs were a little too far apart to maintain good balance but his feet were splayed at the appropriate right-angle. The right arm, holding the cane, was straight out in front of him whereas the left stuck out behind him like an inverted teacup handle. Whoever Hawkmoth was beneath the mask, he'd clearly studied fencing before._

_So had he._

_The smirk playing on Chat's lips seemed to taunt Hawkmoth. Reasserting himself, he used his height to try gain advantage. They fought until sweat gleamed on Chat's forehead. Adrenalin rushed through his body, addictive, pouring fire into his veins. He felt weightless. Weapons met with sharp metallic clangs. Despite this, neither was advancing on the other._

_Suddenly, Hawkmoth drew back and whipped his cane around him. Akuma butterflies swarmed from behind him, ploughing through the warehouse and slamming into Chat. They whirled past him and surrounded Ladybug, who had found her way onto the industrial walkway suspended above them. She shrieked as they clamoured around her, a mass of black and purple. Her yo-yo whizzed through them to no avail. "Ladybug!" he shouted._

_Hawkmoth was already on the move. A solid clump of butterflies worked as a platform beneath his feet and carried him upwards towards the platform. Incapacitated, Ladybug wouldn't see him coming until he wanted her to._

_"I've waited too long for this," boomed Hawkmoth. "I will finally have your Miraculouses!"_

_"Why? What could you possibly want them for?" came Ladybug's reply, faint from within the swarm. The yo-yo was still zipping through the butterflies, but it was quickly swallowed in the insects' resurgence._

_Hawkmoth stepped onto the walkway, straightening the lapels of his tailcoat. His expression was so disgustingly smug that Chat's lip curled. "Power. Limitless power. With your Miraculouses, I could have righted a wrong that never should have happened."_

_Was he dreaming or did Hawkmoth sound... sad?_

_Chat shook it off. There was no time to consider how their mortal enemy might be feeling. But just as he was about to follow Hawkmoth to the walkway, his Miraculous beeped._

_Damn._

_He'd almost forgotten that he'd used his Cataclysm. A string of expletives so poetic left his mouth that Hawkmoth glanced down at him, frowning. "M'lady, we have a tiny problem."_

_"No, really?" she replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll be fine. Just go, quickly!"_

_Nodding, Chat ran from the warehouse and made it outside just as his transformation dropped. Plagg whirled from the ring, muttering curses._

_"Three times today, Adrien! Three! And what do I get in return? Less than half a wheel of my precious Camembert! This is abuse, I tell you! Abuse!" wailed the kwami. Adrien huffed impatiently and offered a piece of cheese from within the depths of his pocket. It was sweaty and covered in lint after a day in his pocket, but it made no difference to an exhausted Plagg._

_"Come on, Plagg, hurry. We've got to get back in there," insisted Adrien._

_The kwami looked at him with a blatantly miffed expression. "For once, I wasn't going to savour it. That was unnecessary," replied Plagg with a sniff. The cheese quickly vanished, but not without a few more exaggerated sighs and nasty looks from Plagg._

_Nerves plagued Adrien as he cried, "Plagg, claws out!"_

_In mere seconds, he was back inside the warehouse and vaulting himself onto the walkway._

_Ladybug and Hawkmoth were locked in battle. It was clear that Ladybug was at somewhat of a disadvantage. With butterflies still descending on her in droves, she only had a few seconds between each swarm to defend herself before they surged back again. Her yo-yo wasn't an offensive weapon either, not against a cane and tiny insects. Between the two fronts, Ladybug was taking quite the beating._

_Chat was quick to intercede. Leaping in front of Hawkmoth, he blocked another swipe of the cane with his staff. He grinned at his enemy. "Well, this is just purr-fect. A final showdown."_

_"If you handed over your ring, there wouldn't need to be one," replied Hawkmoth, his voice straining with exertion as he swung again. Clearly, he wasn't rising to any baited words. Instead, he was almost smiling._

_"We both know that's not happening. You'll have to pry this thing off my cold, dead hands," Chat said, advancing, unable to suppress the tincture of bitterness in his tone._

_Hawkmoth frowned devilishly. "That can be arranged."_

_And so they fought. Chat managed to manoeuvre their little dance so Hawkmoth had his back turned to Ladybug, who had managed to disperse most of the butterflies and was hurriedly gesticulating a plan at him. She was gesturing at her neck, where Hawkmoth's butterfly brooch would've been pinned._

_It took him a second to understand before putting full force into his attack. Ladybug joined in, attacking Hawkmoth from behind and forcing him to defend on two fronts. Surrounded by akumas, her attacks were split between them and the enemy._

_Chat thought of all the damage Hawkmoth had caused, how much pain people had endured because of him. If the hatred he felt for Hawkmoth could've manifested as something physical, it would have been a scarlet and foul-smelling miasma. His fury fuelled his fighting._

_Quick jabs and swipes of his staff were met with strong defence. He left no time for Hawkmoth to attempt an offensive attack. The blows he inflicted were forceful but swift. Hawkmoth was slowing, fatigue adding weight to his limbs. He was tiring quickly and Chat was quick to take advantage._

_Trapping the cane beneath his foot, he thrust his staff towards Hawkmoth's face. Ladybug's yo-yo wrapped around Hawkmoth's arm and tugged fiercely. His opponent stumbled backwards, blood dripping from a large split in his lip. His hand went to it, dabbing at the blood. Hawkmoth ran his tongue across his lip, a rancorous smile ill-fitting on his face. It was less a smile than the bared teeth of a threatened predator._

_Suddenly, Hawkmoth stomped his foot. The half of the remaining akumas abandoned their plight against Ladybug and rolled like a wave towards Chat. They were upon him like a storm, torrents of them pouring on his face. Blinded, Chat swatted them. They pricked his skin like tiny needles, relentless in their attack._

_Somewhere beyond the myriad of black and fluorescent purple, Ladybug was shouting. "Chat! Watch out!"_

_Instinct told him to back away, but the akumas pressed him in place. The cane was wrenched from beneath his foot and he staggered, off-balance. It smacked against his sprained ankle and Chat cried out in pain. Crumpling onto one knee, he swatted in an arc around him, attempting to defend himself. The cane came again. This time, it hit wherever it could reach, mercilessly beating him. "You... will... not... win!" growled Hawkmoth. "Give me your Miraculous!"_

_Blood left a metallic taste in his mouth and Chat spat it away. "Not today."_

_Infuriated, Hawkmoth yelled. The akumas dissipated suddenly, just in time for him to see the cane descending on his wrist. The shock of the impact dislodged his staff from his hand._ _He could only watch helplessly as his staff twisted through the air and clattered on the factory floor far below._

_Blocking the cane, he stalled each strike with his forearms. The welts from each impact stung, but it was better for his arms to take the blows than his head. If he took any more smacks to the head, he doubted he'd stay conscious. The next blow landed squarely in his open palm and he latched on. Tugging the cane from Hawkmoth's grasp, he tossed it off the walkway and far out of reach._

_Hawkmoth's gaze was full of venom._ _"So you want a fistfight? Fine. Come at me empty-handed, boy, and we'll see who leaves with their pride in a sling. Miraculous or no Miraculous, you will not win," he hissed._

_"That's just it," replied Chat, his tone taunting, "I'm not acquainted with losing."_

_Launching forwards in a retaliative attack, Chat dropped into overhead guard, springing forward to plant a hammer fist strike against Hawkmoth's head. It was quickly succeeded by a palm-heel strike to the chest, further stunning his opponent. Hawkmoth attacked, aiming a right hook at his face. Blocking it was easy, catching his fist in his palm and shoving it away from him. But Hawkmoth was relentless, as expected. He rained blows, a few of which were quick to land and soon followed by another._

_The fight became second nature. Sparring was burned into his muscles from years of karate training. It was a sort of dance, with both of them taking turns to block and attack. Whipping his leg forward, he landed a snap front kick to the groin before spinning to land a roundhouse on the side of the head. Hawkmoth collapsed against the railing of the walkway with such force that the metal crumpled, coughing._

_"Give up, Hawkmoth," said Chat. "Can't you see how pointless this is? Nothing can be worth this pain or the pain you've caused others."_

_"Deep down, there's good in you. We know there is," Ladybug added softly. The expression on her face was uncertain._

_Hawkmoth sneered but his eyes had a certain desperation that unsettled Chat. People do dangerous things when they're desperate and this man was powerful enough already. The two together made a volatile concoction that Chat knew better than to underestimate. "You have stood in my way for far too long. All I have done could have been prevented if you had just done as you were told. You caused this and I take no responsibility for it. All I have done is down to you and your pride and overbearing sense of duty. But-" Hawkmoth gave a humourless laugh. Blood stained his teeth. "- you just had to enjoy your entitlement. All I have done is justified. It is a means to an end that far outweighs the means themselves."_

_"You're wrong," said Ladybug. "We're not accountable for your poor judgement. There are other ways of doing something without all this destruction and-_ "

_"Not this!" he interrupted with a shout._

_"Everything can be done another way. There's always a choice!"_

_"There was no other way."_

_"That's not true. No outcome could justify what you've done. What is worth all this? Huh?" said Chat impatiently, gesturing around him. Hawkmoth's indignant words grated him. How could someone who'd done such awful things even think they'd done nothing wrong?_

_Hawkmoth sniffed in disdain. "Yes, it is. I wouldn't expect snivelling children to understand the complexities of the world."_

_A chill washed over him at the retort. All his emotions drained out through his feet and left him numb. "Oh really? While you were on your power trip under the pretence it was something important, this 'snivelling child' was digging victims out of the rubble of a burning building that_ your _akuma set fire to. While you were on your high horse, one of those victims, a seven-year-old kid-" Chat stopped, his voice thick. Tears blurred his vision. He remembered the boy, peppered with burns, eyes vacant as they stared into infinity. So young. He cleared his throat. "-died in his mother's arms this morning. His name was Michael. So no, we don't think this is justifiable."_

_Hawkmoth's expression didn't change. Pure hatred boiled Chat's blood at that moment. Never before had he been so physically repulsed by someone. "A regrettable accident."_

_"What?" cried Ladybug in shock._

_"You caused this! That boy wouldn't be dead if you hadn't released the akumas in the first place!" Chat shouted venomously. His hands curled into fists. He was practically seeing red. He couldn't recall a time he'd ever been so angry._

_"As I said, regrettable accident," said Hawkmoth coldly. "A worthy sacrifice for my cause."_

_"What cause?!"_

_"Saving my wife!" he burst out. "All I need is your Miraculouses! Then I shall have the power to save her!"_

_Finally losing his patience, Chat barrelled forwards. All form gone, he punched Hawkmoth relentless. Blow after blow after blow, his anger never relented. The enemy returned each punch, blow for blow. Chat could hardly feel it. The roaring in his ears overcame the pain. Every time Hawkmoth staggered, it filled him with a flush of adrenaline._

_In the corner of his vision, Ladybug's face appeared shocked. Instead of stopping him, she cracked her knuckles. Now was the time that she'd execute her plan._

_For a moment, Chat had the upper hand. Hawkmoth teetered on the edge of the walkway. The implied plan had been that Chat would distract their enemy, while Ladybug attacked from behind in an attempt to remove the butterfly Miraculous pinned at his throat. He had to reign in his rage before he ruined their plan. Despite planning Hawkmoth's defeat since first fighting an akuma, every carefully fabricated idea dissipated in the heat of battle. Hawkmoth had always managed to outmanoeuvre them, twisting the course of the battle so that he had the upper hand. He'd always orchestrated just how to maintain an even playing field._

_That moment was no different._

_Hawkmoth, instead of defending himself from Chat's attack, lunged at Ladybug as she launched herself at him, his hands clawing desperately at her ears. The thud of impact echoed through the vacant warehouse; a sickening snap that rebounded off the brick walls._

_Chat had been inches away from Hawkmoth when it happened. His job had been to distract, but the Miraculous was close enough to snatch. The end of the battle had been at his fingertips. Yet, he still missed it._

_Ladybug's momentum knocked Hawkmoth from his feet. The force of the collision crumpled the already-damaged metal railing that encased the walkway. With nothing to stop them, their entwined bodies crumpled and toppled over the edge. Her scream pierced the air._

_"Ladybug!" he bellowed. Panic seized him. Frantically scanning around him, he found the stairs that led to the walkway and sprinted down them. The pain in his ankle burned to the point of agony, but he persisted. Reaching the bottom, he raced across the factory floor._

_Ladybug was sprawled on the concrete, stirring with a pained groan. Blood pooled from a large split in her earlobe. Her earring was missing. Feeling the panic as if it were fresh in his heart, Chat scurried towards her, screaming her name._

_Ladybug rolled onto her back, gasping for breath. However she'd landed, it had hurt her. The suffering was a grotesque display playing on her features. "His... Miraculous. G- Get it!" she urged, voice ragged._

_He glanced at Hawkmoth, lying a metre away, writhing in pain but laughing. Manic peals of laughter rang from blood-corrupted lungs, frothing from his lips and staining his teeth crimson once more. A bloody earring lay in his palm. Chat lurched towards him, an unfamiliar snarl on his lips. Fury coiled in his muscles like a serpent. He'd wanted nothing more than to hurt Hawkmoth further for everything he'd done._

_Grabbing the pin from Hawkmoth's throat, Chat snatched the Miraculous from their enemy, hurling it away. It skittered across the concrete, too far to be of use to the injured villain. Hawkmoth struggled, desperately reaching for it. "No! No! I must win! I must get your Miraculouses... I must!" cried Hawkmoth desperately. His voice cracked with despair. The realisation of his defeat had dawned on him and the loss was too much. There were tears, both of pain and bitterness, in the villain's eyes._

_Preparing to dash back towards Ladybug, who still lay flat on her back heaving for breath, his muscles coiled in readiness. Then Hawkmoth's guise fell away._

_The bruised face of Gabriel Agreste stared back at him._

_His father leered at him, coughing blood, no recognition on his face. Chat's world turned grey, his muscles weak._

_No. This couldn't be right. His father was... Hawkmoth?_

_He staggered away from his father, collapsing onto his knees. The ringing in his ears grew impossibly loud. "But... you became the Collector. You were akumatised. This can't be possible." he muttered, shock electrifying his body. Gabriel Agreste smiled coyly._

_"A ploy. A very, very well-executed plan," Hawkmoth laughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "I figured you were getting close, but you were so quick to believe my trick! It's almost laudable how easily fooled you are."_

_"T-this can't be." But he knew in his heart that it was. His father lay broken before him, all because he'd wanted to save his mother, Emilie. Chat knew his mother was long gone, who knew where. It hurt more than anything, but he would never do what Gabriel Agreste had done._

_Outside, sirens grew louder and louder. Minutes later, police officers, medics and reporters poured into the warehouse, shouting over each other. Ladybug refused treatment from the medics, as her Lucky Charm would repair whatever damage had been done. His father - Hawkmoth - was jostled into the back of an ambulance with a security detail and two sets of handcuffs._

_But Chat still knelt, defeated, on the floor, staring at his hands. Only when the medics began harassing him did he stand, their words muffled in his ears, and limp past them._

_He limped out of the warehouse. He bypassed the reporters who fumbled around him, ceaselessly asking questions. The next morning, with his house being targeted by grieving victims of Hawkmoth's terror, he left Paris._

_He didn't look back._

 

* * *

 

Until now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the Final Battle is revealed via dreams!
> 
> Sheesh, this was a long chapter. A lot went off at my school recently so I've had a lot of work that prevented me from writing. Not to mention, this was a hella tedious chapter to write. I wrote most of it today (over ten pages!! Today!!)
> 
> Anywho, I hope you enjoyed it. I've been rereading this to sort out continuity errors, so let me know if you also find some. 
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	14. A New Day

_Running. Running. Running._

_His heart was racing. Each heartbeat marked another pounding of his feet on the concrete._

_My Lady. My Lady. My Lady._

_Ladybug was a few feet ahead. Inky tresses of hair trailed behind her as she walked._

_She was walking. Not running. Why wasn't he catching up?_

_No matter how much he ran, she was always an inch out of his reach. Why? Why? Why?_

_It shocked him just how cold he was. It wasn't a refreshing coolness. His limbs were ice. His body was stone. He was in so much pain. Frostbite solidified his limbs. Every jolt and thud of his feet brought on waves of searing agony. He was encased in ice. He couldn't breathe._

_No matter how far he ran, Ladybug was out of reach and they never moved forwards. They were stuck_ _in the same spot. He ran, and ran, and ran. It didn't matter. The streetlamp flickering overhead continued to flicker overhead. The iciness continued to be icy. Ladybug continued to walk, but never once moved forwards._

_They were trapped._

_He could never escape. He could never save her._

_Once again, he watched a grotesque caricature of Hawkmoth - his father - appear before Ladybug. She continued walking, never moving forwards and never realising that her greatest foe was mere metres away. Once again, he tried to shout, lunge, leap towards her. He'd tried everything to get between them._

_Once again, she turned around to face him. Only this time, it wasn't Ladybug._

_It was Gabriel Agreste._

_He watched as Hawkmoth put a blade through his father's heart. Once again, he could do nothing but watch the victim die. Once again, Hawkmoth lunged at him, and the world fell into darkness._

 

* * *

 

Adrien awoke suddenly, suffocating, entangled in his own bed sheets. He panicked, choking, and ripped the sheets away from him. Clasping his hands to his face, he rolled onto his back, feeling the cold sweat numb his skin, and cried. 

Each night since the day he visited Gabriel, his father had haunted his nightmares.  

It took a while to quell the panic and the tears. The morning alarm began to ring but he couldn't bring himself to move to silence it. It rang and rang and rang. Then it fell silent.

"Adrien?" It was Plagg, who must've turned it off. His voice was small and unusually nonabrasive. "What's wrong?"

No force of will could've forced an answer from him. His hands pressed stars onto his closed eyelids. The nightmare clung to his mind like a sulphurous cloud.

Dragging his hands down his haggard face, he scrubbed the five o'clock shadow covering his jaw and slung his legs over the side of his bed, forcing himself up. 

After working from home since he visited his father the previous Thursday, Adrien knew that he had to make an appearance in the office. It was also Monday and, as such, it was Marinette's first day. The thought of going outside was almost unbearable, but he didn't want to let her down, either. 

After spending an inordinate amount of time stood under the running shower, he was disturbed from his stupor by the sound of his phone ringing. In his entirely professional capacity, he'd let it ring through to voicemail for the last few days. Several unopened voicemails from Annette and an overflowing inbox were the result of his radio silence. 

This time, he answered. "Nino?"

"Sup, Adrien." It had been a week or so since he'd last spoken with Nino and Adrien could describe the relief he felt upon hearing it. "How've you been, man?"

Absently drying his hair with a towel with his free hand, Adrien sighed. Should he even tell Nino? He didn't want him to worry or worse, come back to France. Nino was on the final leg of his tour. The last thing he needed was an impromptu disturbance to his packed schedule. Still, Nino was always honest with him. It was courtesy to do the same. 

"Honestly? Terrible. I just-" he stopped, sighing again. "Gabriel's dying."

For a minute, the line was silent. Adrien checked his phone to make sure Nino hadn't hung up. 

"Man, that's... wow. How're you holding up?" Straight to the point, as Nino tended to be. He felt relieved by this. He'd missed his best friend and appreciated that he didn't dance around the subject. 

"Truthfully? I don't know. Not... well, but at the same time, I don't feel like I should care."

Nino sighed. "He's still your father, bro." 

"He's a criminal, Nino. I can't forgive what he did," said Adrien. He tried to put some force into his words, to truly emphasise just how much Gabriel Agreste had let him down, but failed to do so. Instead, the only tone in his voice was misery.  

Adrien wished he could see Nino's face. His friend had always been expressive and it usually gave away what he was thinking. 

"You don't have to forgive him," Nino replied matter-of-factly, "but that doesn't mean you can't be upset about this. It's been so long, Adrien. You gotta let all this resentment go at some point or you'll never get past it."

Electing not to reply, he glanced at his watch, which sat on the side of the sink. Noticing the time, he cursed slightly. For his first day in the office for a few days, he was already running late. "Nino, I've got to head off to work... well, now. What did you call for?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter, man. It can wait," said Nino. "See you later."

"Later, Nino."

Adrien was out of the house and into the car within minutes, hair still wet and with no socks on. The Gorilla glanced at him in the rear-view mirror, his expression vacant but definitely judgemental. 

Being scrutinised came as part of his job, but Adrien's irritability wasn't inclined to deal with it that morning. "Let's go," he snapped impatiently. Wordlessly, the Gorilla complied. Adrien pretended to ignore the guilt that settled almost immediately.

Outside the car window, Paris went by without him. It didn't heed his foul mood. The day was warm but not oppressively hot, the sky clear and a wondrous shade of powder blue. Trees shed their leaves in swirls of amber and citrine, harbingers of the fast-approaching winter. On days such as this, it seemed impossible that it was October. Pedestrians walked with less haste, lolling in the surprising balmy autumn day. They all looked reasonably happy, cheerily sipping morning coffees or sat at the bus stop with their faces upturned, eyes closed as they basked in the sunlight. 

As usual, Adrien was separate from it, watching the world as a third-party. He knew it was silly. If he'd wanted to walk to work, to be in the thick of the city in autumn, it wouldn't have been a difficult task to get ready quicker. Was his social exile self-imposed? Perhaps he just didn't belong. 

At that moment, just as he was considering asking the Gorilla to turn the car around, his phone buzzed. It appeared he was a popular contact that morning.

**Marinette: _I'll see you at the studio!_**

Upon reading her words, a feeling of pure light bloomed like the petals of a spring flower in his heart. The darkness seemed to recede slightly. The nightmares drifted further and further from his mind, the cloud receding with each breath of fresh air. Just that one little text and suddenly the thought of facing the world wasn't so harrowing.

The morning light warmed his face now, too. Perhaps he could face the day after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Sliding her phone back into her pocket, Marinette sighed contentedly. With the warm weather and the promise of a new start at her fingertips, the day already augured success. Pessimism seemed paradoxical, given the circumstances.

Little over a month before and Marinette had never felt so distanced from her dreams. They'd seemed unattainable, the wishes of a naive child who didn't know any better. Despair had consumed what remained of her hope.

Then Adrien had waltzed back into Paris and seemed to bring all the things she'd been missing back with him.

Strolling through Paris in the early morning, a travel-cup of ginger tea in hand as she headed towards her new job, Marinette could only be thankful that Adrien had come back. Without him, she doubted she'd have moved past square one again.

A giddy feeling settled in her stomach.

When she was a teenager, it had been her dream to work for a high-end fashion designer. For many years, the _Gabriel_ brand was her ultimate goal; designing for the company that had driven her passion for fashion design would have been like something from a fairy tale. But after the company collapsed into disrepute following Gabriel Agreste's arrest, her sights had shifted towards Vuitton.

Even though her aspirations to work with Vuitton had been fruitless, it had led her full-circle. After so many bumps in the road and unforeseen complications, it was morning she started working for Gabriel in a project that could revolutionise the company.

She could only hope that the project came to fruition.

After walking to the centre of the city, the map led her to an impressive stone office building with richly engraved sandstone and large, arched windows. On the plaque beside the entryway, Gabriel was listed among the three tenants, all of whom were world-renowned businesses.

The giddy feeling mingled with nerves.

Could she really do this?

The moment she thought it, Tikki's head popped out of her purse. "You've got this, Marinette," she said softly, barely audible over the bustling of the inner city.

Confidence reaffirmed, she strode through the entryway and into the lift. It seemed like a lifetime before it reached the right floor.

 _Ding_. The lift doors slid open.

The studio beyond was spacious and painted a stark white. It had clearly been re-purposed only recently. The paint in the corners of the studio peeled, revealing the plaster beneath. Empty brown filing boxes, like those found in old offices, were stacked in against the wall, with a few corners of them also poking out from under desks. The high-tech computer monitors, large hardwood design benches for fabric cutting and glass display boards drowning in design notes seemed too modern for the age of the building, though not necessarily out of place. Five hardwood desks with leather chairs, two of which were unmanned, took up one half of the studio, while the design benches took up the other half.

Every eye in the studio turned to look at her. She held her breath, reminding herself that she actually needed to leave the lift, or the doors would close on her. Shakily, she took a step forwards. "I'm- I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng," she said. The quietness of her voice made her frown a little, so she tried to put more force into her words. "I start today."

For a moment, no one moved. Then, suddenly, a woman with brightly coloured hair sprung from her desk. From the position of her desk at the head of the group, Marinette assumed that this woman was the head designer.

"Annette Bergé. Nice to meet you," she greeted warmly, sticking out a dark-nailed hand for her to shake. There was something so affirming in Annette's warm brown eyes that made Marinette's nerves almost entirely disappear.

The women who occupied the remaining manned desks joined them, introducing themselves as Haruhi and Karen. While Marinette took an immediate liking to Annette and Haruhi, there was a coldness to Karen that was somewhat intimidating.

A small coo drew everyone's attention. Besides the lift, a small break room was cordoned off by a glass partition wall. Inside, the break room had a wall of kitchen cabinets, a fridge and a coffee machine, but aside from that, there was only what appeared to be a net playpen that one might find in a child's nursery. And sure enough, the source of the coo was found.

Inside the pen, a toddler, perhaps no older than two, chewed on the ear of a stuffed bunny rabbit.

Confusion immediately settled over her like a blanket. Annette walked into the break room and, awkwardly, Marinette followed. It was like she was a small child, lost in the crowd at a party, and clinging to whichever adult she felt somewhat reassured by. The gaggle of designers all moved together until all four of them were spaced at various intervals around the pen.

Leaning over the playpen, Marinette offered a hand to the toddler. "And who, pray-tell, is this?" she inquired, an edge of baby-talk tone coming into her voice as the infant clutched her finger.

"That would be Fabienne, my daughter. She's a little grabby," Annette explained. "Until I can find a babysitter, she'll be at work with me."

Haruhi grinned, scrunching her nose. "Grabby babies are the best babies."

"Oh, yeah, until said grabby baby is grabbing fabric scissors and chewing them. I've invested in silicone covers for everything pointy since then," laughed Annette.

Karen pursed her lips. There was otherwise no change in her expression. It was unnerving. "Will the child be a distraction, Miss Dupain-Cheng?"

Fervently, Marinette shook her head. "I'm here to work, ma'am."

Karen clucked her tongue. It was impossible to interpret if she approved or disapproved judging by tone and expression alone, but Marinette assumed it was the former.

Smiling, Annette rolled her eyes and escorted Marinette to one of the unmanned desks. There was already a huge stack of paperwork on it, awaiting her. "This is your desk. We've got everything set up for you, though we're mainly working on paper until we're certain the copies are perfected. As we've finished most of the hard-copies to perfection already, your job is to help me write them up as computer documents."

"I thought I was here as a design consultant? Just here to adapt the designs and whatnot?" asked Marinette with a confused frown.

A somewhat bitter look crossed Annette's face. The designer gave a humourless laugh. "Unfortunately, we don't have the resources to simply hire a consultant. You're here as a designer in its full capacity, effective immediately. I know it's not whatever pretence Adrien hired you under, but it's how it has to be, if that's okay with you. The board of directors were hard-asses about our project. So, we have limited funding and an impossibly short timescale. We have until London Spring Fashion Week in February to complete the project."

At that revelation, Marinette's eyes practically bugged out of her head. Her anxiety quadrupled in the space of milliseconds. "Five months? September to February? That's... How? This project is huge! It's so far from the typical _Gabriel_ style. It'd be a miracle to get it done in that time frame."

"Exactly," Annette said with displeasure, running her tongue across her teeth. "A meeting with the board of directors is scheduled for October 30th. On that date, all our work must be submitted to them for review in both paper and PDF format. If it's not up to their standards, they'll axe the project before it even takes off. If that happens, we'll have wasted two months of work and our careers are effectively over."

"Why?"

"Adrien staked his career on this project. If it fails, the board excommunicate him from the company. As for the rest of us, we'll never design for _Gabriel_ again. Those were the terms of the project."

Mulling this over, Marinette stayed silent for a moment. Then, she said, "Then there's no time to waste, is there?"

A twinkle glinted in Annette's eyes, a look of mischief that made her realise that Annette's solemnity was entirely stressed based. "I have a feeling you'll fit in around here just fine, Marinette."

And so, it seemed, she did. Despite not designing for over a year, copying up documents wasn't a strenuous task, but did quickly become tedious. On the desk adjoining hers, Haruhi was listening to music through headphones to keep herself focused, the tinny tune somewhat audible.

Marinette was, however, appreciative to be in the thick of the fashion world again. A high-risk, incredibly creative design project for an influential fashion house? That was right up her alley. All she could hope was that being directly involved with fashion again would give her inspiration to work on her own designs.

About twenty minutes after she'd arrived, the lift pinged. Out stepped Adrien Agreste, dressed, as usual, in an impeccable grey suit. Only today, his hair was unstyled and wet. His shoes, though spotlessly polished, revealed ankles that had no socks. The stubble of five o'clock shadow lined his jaw and his face was noticeably tired and distant.

"Good morning. Complete radio silence is unlike you, Agreste," said Annette, looking less than pleased but more than concerned as she glanced up from her work. "Where'd you go?"

Adrien's expression became, if possible, more distant. "Overseeing a private matter."

Pursing her lips, Karen frowned. "Okay. Well, you're behind on your paperwork and you're late, so it's full pedal to the metal." Then she turned back to her work.

"You alright?" asked Annette softly.

Hardly sparing a glance in her direction, Adrien smiled in a reassuring manner. It didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yes. Thank you."

He looked as if the muscles of his face had gone on strike. Everything about it was slack and gave him the emanation of someone who would rebuff every guileless attempt to strike up a conversation. It was clear that Adrien wasn't in the mood for conversation.

Marinette frowned. Never had she seen him so dejected. Even she knew him well enough to know that he masked his feelings almost constantly, refusing to let anyone see him vulnerable.

Now? The rawness of his aura worried her. With the exception of Annette, no one else seemed to have picked up on quite how volatile this Adrien was. Perhaps this was as close to his nature as she'd ever seen, or maybe it was quite the opposite. Either way, Marinette was immediately worried for him.

At last, his eyes found her. They brightened slightly. "Mari. How's your first day?"

Even his tone was distant, rehearsed almost. "It's going okay. I'm glad you made it."

"I wouldn't miss your first day," he said softly. His expression turned wistful and oddly tender. It was disarming. She wondered if he was ill. That would explain why he'd been so quiet for a few days.

Unsure of what to say, she simply smiled, tucking a tuft of hair behind her ear before starting to type again.

Clearing his throat, Adrien took a seat at the only empty desk, which was situated across from hers. The surface of it was immensely cluttered, with multiple stacks of paper distributed in whatever free space could be made. The sheer amount of work laid out for him was incomparable to the single stack she had.

From what Adrien had told her, she'd doubted just how big the project was. But scouring the stack on her desk, writing up pages upon pages of repetitive plans, sourcing manuscripts and bespoke fabric development processes, the enormity of the project was now unquestionable.

Why the board demanded so many copies was beyond her comprehension. The papers were so mundane and monotonous that her eyes kept going out of focus. Anyone who voluntarily wanted to read through identical sheets in different formats concerned her.

A few hours into scribing, Marinette leant back from her desk, rolling the knots from her shoulders and stretching out her fingers. Everyone in the office, with the exception of Annette and Karen, appeared as heavy-eyed as she was. Annette remained as passionate and driven in her work as one would expect and Karen had yet to betray any emotion at all, so if she was as bored as the others, she hadn't given anyone a clue.

Across from her, Adrien appeared more miserable than the rest. He'd managed to work through a whole stack, racing through his work, but it had clearly done very little to lighten his mood.

"Does anyone have the schedule printout from the board? I must've misplaced it last week, but it's important," he said.

No one volunteered the paper. Marinette wasn't surprised. With so much paperwork on every desk, and with so much paper sorted through or shredded already, it seemed unlikely that whoever had it knew that they did.

His green eyes assessed everyone, oddly unnerving. "Well?"

"We'll find it as we sort through," Haruhi offered, reassuringly. Her answer didn't seem to please him. He frowned.

"I kind of need it now."

"Adrien, we'll find it. With so much paperwork, it won't be easy to spot. Give us a little time," said Marinette. Something about his tone really irked her. It was petulant and reminded her of their old classmate, Chloé Bourgeois. "It'll turn up sometime today."

Enmity prickled the air. His eyes met hers, impatient. "Marinette, this is important."

" _Adrien_ , all of this is important."

Annette cleared her throat awkwardly. "This is all important, Adrien, and it's all in order. We'll mess up the portfolio order if we start rooting through the piles. If you misplaced it last week, then the likelihood is that it's somewhere near the bottom."

Adrien looked at the ceiling but didn't argue further, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to ease a headache. "I really didn't need this today," he muttered under his breath, almost inaudible.

Now, if Marinette had feathers, they would most certainly have been ruffled. It was her first day and Adrien was being so... so... _moody_. It was very unlike him to act that way, considering how professional he usually was. She pursed her lips.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Clearly not. Is everything okay with you?"

Snapping his head down to look at her, he spat, "Leave it alone, Marinette. It's none of your concern."

"You're making it my concern by bringing it into the workplace!" she protested, bristling at his sharpness. Her cheeks burned. "Whatever's going on with you, it's unprofessional and unkind to take it out on your colleagues, especially if you won't even give us a reason."

Suddenly, Adrien shot up from his desk. His expression was thunderous. Never before had she thought of him as imposing, but the vehemence in his eyes was so uncannily like that of Gabriel Agreste that for a moment she saw him as the man he needed to be in the fashion industry. His father. Cool, impinging, unreadable, but with something much darker beneath.

That look created a dull feeling in her chest, not fear, but disappointment. Adrien Agreste was not his father. He had never, even in his lowest moments, been like his father. Whoever the man was across from her, she knew it wasn't him. Not really. It couldn't be.

Something was extremely wrong.

"I'm leaving," he said, his tone eerily calm considering his demeanour.

The other three designers, who had been sat rather awkwardly as they watched the drama unfold, all frowned. Annette, in particular, looked miffed. From inside the break room, Fabienne was crying, apparently awoken by the raised voices.

"What do you mean you're leaving?" Annette asked.

Adrien had begun putting his stacks of paperwork into one of the empty brown filing boxes that cluttered the edges of the room. "I'm leaving Paris on the next flight out. I'll finish this and have it sent to you. As it turns out, I have pressing business in Sydney."

For a long moment, the office held its breath, shocked. The only noise was the whirring of the computers and the feeble cries of poor Fabienne.

Haruhi was the first to break the silence. She looked a little departed from her seemingly cheerful self. "Abandoning this project is a mistake, Adrien, and you know it."

"You can't just- just-" Annette blustered, "- leave! This project will fail without you here and that'll be on you. You can't put all of our careers in jeopardy over a bad week and a squabble!"

But he was already walking to the door. Annette followed him, cursing and reasoning and shouting. Then he was gone, and Annette was left standing, staring, at the closed lift doors.

 

* * *

 

 

The following hours passed slowly.

After Adrien's sudden departure, the office had slunk into a sullen silence, consumed by work. The only time any of them stopped working was to go to the bathroom or calm Fabienne. Once the initial shock had worn off, Annette had told them to work even harder. Without Adrien, they'd be behind schedule and more than likely to miss their deadline.

"Adrien can ruin his own career if he wants to," she'd said, "but I'll be damned if I let him ruin ours too."

It was as if she'd driven the office to prove him wrong.

Marinette, however, was a little concerned with how her first day was going. Although she was thrilled to be involved in the project, it had hardly been sunshine-and-rainbows since she'd arrived. She hadn't even been there for half a day's work and already the boss had waltzed out, determined on abandoning both it and his job, effectively.

Despite how foul his mood had been, she missed his presence across from her. When he was there, at least there was someone in the studio that she knew well and was friends with. The other designers were effectively strangers, though they all seemed reasonably pleasant or at least non-confrontational.

After finishing off yet another copy - this one was about the seventh design, a draped pantsuit style based off one of the many statues at the Louvre, including _'Sleeping Hermaphroditus'_ and _'Venus de Milo'_ , in a stunning marble grey fabric - Marinette scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

Everyone in the office had skipped lunch in favour of overworking. They'd all been staving off their hunger with copious amounts of coffee, supplied by the less than stellar coffee pot in the break room. Though it was by far the worst coffee she'd ever drunk, Annette's mood had also turned so sour that no one had yet attempted to take a break that was longer than two minutes to go get nicer coffee from the café down the street.

So, Marinette made yet another trip to the coffee pot. Momentarily, she stopped to pull faces at Fabienne, who gurgled in delight as she chewed on her fist.

The coffee in the pot was lukewarm and oddly translucent. She scrunched her nose as she poured another cup, taking her time to make sure the gritty dregs at the bottom didn't go into her mug. After making that mistake the last time, she wasn't in a hurry to repeat it.

Despite her focus, her train of thought was once again drawn back to their missing boss. Whatever was wrong with him had deeply unsettled her. The behaviour he exhibited was so uncharacteristic of him. Usually, if something was wrong, Adrien tended to bottle it and go on as if nothing had happened. She noticed that he did that a lot when they were younger (after all, she did have an unhealthily obsessive crush on him back then so she noticed those things). But now? Leaving the city over an argument and a bad mood?

Marinette wasn't sure what to do.

"Are you done with that?" said a sharp voice. Suddenly appearing behind her, like an angel of death, was Karen Beaumont. The woman looked - if possible - more irked than usual. Considering the cloud of misery that seemed to hang over the office, that was unsurprising.

Drawn suddenly from her daydreams, Marinette shrieked, the coffee pot tumbling from her hands. It hit the ground and shattered, spraying fragments of glass and hot coffee in every direction. Including, Marinette noticed with alarm, all over Karen's white Prada heels.

 _Yikes_.

Karen cast a distasteful look at her ruined shoes before her severe blue eyes met Marinette's. Her gaze was piercingly cold.

Flinching, Marinette stooped to pick up the broken shards of the coffee pot. The contents of the pot were slowly pooling outwards, running along the cracks in the floorboards in dark rivulets. "I am so, so sorry, madame," she rambled guiltily. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Clearly," replied Karen, her tone clipped. Then she turned on her heel and waltzed out, grabbing her purse before leaving the studio.

Deflating, Marinette ran her hands down her face before grabbing a cloth to clean up the coffee. _This day could not get worse if I tried_ , she thought miserably.

From the playpen, Fabienne was wailing, upset by the loud smash. Annette rushed over to settle her daughter, frowning at the sight - or lack thereof - of the coffee pot.

Draining the cloth over the sink, Marinette asked, "Did Karen say where she was going? I think I've upset her."

Annette, now cradling her daughter in her arms, did not look up when she replied. "She's gone to the coffee shop to get some 'real coffee'. Said she's sick of drinking the instant stuff that's next door to water."

"Oh." God, all she wanted to do was crawl under her desk and cry. The day kept going from bad to worse. The niggling doubts about accepting the job in the first place had returned with a vengeance. So much had gone wrong that it was surely a sign that this job wasn't for her. She should just call it quits and go back to working her day job at the bakery.

Grabbing her mug, she sheepishly made her way back over to her desk, not quite sure what to do with herself. Setting the coffee down, she took a moment to lay her head in her hands.

Haruhi coughed gently, interrupting her moment of self-pity. "Tough first day?" she asked gently.

"I've been here less than six hours and I've already broken the coffee pot _and_ upset our boss," moaned Marinette miserably, looking up at her. "Not to mention, Karen hates me."

"Karen hates everyone on principle," said Haruhi comfortingly. "I wouldn't worry about it. She tries not to show it, but she's not as cold as she lets on. I caught her eating a Toffee Yum-Yum the other day. It was like an apparent deity had fallen to the mortal world. I was awestruck."

Sato's words did little to comfort Marinette, and she proceeded to squish her cheeks harder. "But I ruined her white Pradas with _coffee_."

This was news to Sato, clearly. She couldn't conceal the look of abject horror on her face. At that moment, Annette cackled and leaned around her desk to get a better look at Marinette. "Oh, yeah, she definitely hates you," she called. "Those are her favourites."

Marinette groaned.

"Hey, don't take it to heart. You've been dumped right in the thick of the most boring and stressful aspect of fashion design. The longer we take to do the paperwork, the less time we have to make the products in order to meet the Spring deadline, yadda yadda yadda," Haruhi pressed on. "I'd say you're doing pretty well so far. One bad day isn't the end of the world."

"Somehow it seems like it is. Maybe I've just been out of the game too long."

"No one is out of the game for too long. You'll get back into the routine in a few days, so don't let today set a precedent for the rest of the project, okay? I have a feeling you'll do great."

 

* * *

 

 

The desire to watch the stars overcame Marinette that night. The day had been arduous and long, but scouring the grey night sky in the hopes of spotting a star was something that always helped her unwind. A pencil twirled between her fingers, her design sketchbook open in her lap. The blankness of its pages, though undesirable, didn't seem as burdensome now that the day was done.

Engulfed in the warm embrace of an oversized jumper in an attempt to keep the bite of the autumn draught at bay, Marinette was sat on the balcony. It was a pointless preventative measure. The chill still brought goosebumps to her skin. She curled herself further onto the chair, blanket tucked firmly around her legs, notebook forgotten in her lap. Perhaps sitting outside hadn't been the best idea - the heat had retreated from Paris entirely since the sun had set - but she couldn't find the effort to move inside.

She sighed, balling her hands into fists inside the sleeves of her jumper. The feeling of guilt about all the problems she'd caused that day wasn't dissipating. "Tikki, what do I do?" she said softly.

The kwami, who was slightly grumpy to have been forced out of sight for the entire day, perched on the arm of the chair. "There's not much you can do, Marinette. You did your best and that's what matters."

"But I messed up so much. I mean... Karen's shoes. They were obviously expensive and Sato said she loved them. Not to mention the argument with Adrien. I probably really upset him."

Tikki considered this for a moment. "Then you try to fix it. You apologised to Karen, but ask her how you can help further, I suppose. As for Adrien? I... don't know."

Everything about the trials and tribulations of the day had left both Marinette and Tikki flummoxed, it seemed. It would have been a bare-faced lie if Marinette said that she would fix it because she honestly wasn't sure. With Karen, shoes could be replaced but Madame Beaumont didn't seem to be the forgiving or trusting type. And with Adrien leaving the city, who knew what could be done? It could be another seven years before she saw him again. She hoped that wasn't the case, but knew that it was a strong possibility. He'd cut his losses before, after his father was arrested. Who's to say he wouldn't do it again?

Pursing her lips, her eyes looked to the sky again, still searching for a star. She'd never been much of a believer in divine intervention, but perhaps she could find an answer in the stars. Unfurling herself, she got out of the chair and approached the railing, leaning against it.

 _Well, anything's worth a shot_ , she thought.

Marinette closed her eyes, sending out a silent prayer, asking for guidance.

"Bonsoir."

Startled by his voice, Marinette squeaked in surprise and twirled to face him. "Chat Noir?"

"Sorry," he said, leaping down onto the railing. How he maintained his balance was a marvel to her. It was probably down to his more catlike abilities. Chat's expression was distant and oddly sad. His ears, which bounced as he landed, never stopped swivelling atop his head. If it wasn't clear from his face that he was troubled, then the twitchy ears were a dead giveaway. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's alright. What are you doing here?" she asked softly, tucking a longer strand of her fringe behind her ear.

"I've... had a bad week," replied Chat uncertainly. "I didn't want to be alone. Do you mind if I stay here for a little while?" For whatever reason, Chat refused to meet her eyes. He looked everywhere except at her, and when he attempted to look up, he seemed to second-guess himself and look away again.

Marinette patted the railing beside her. He crawled closer, sitting on the railing next to her. They were silent for a while, both comforted simply by the presence of the other. She didn't want to push him to talk, so she did instead. "I don't want to be alone, either."

"Did you have a bad week too?"

"Not a bad week, but certainly a bad day. Nothing I can't fix, hopefully. What about yours?"

"What about it?" he replied flatly. His eyes were dull and lifeless without the bright sparkle of impishness usually found in their depths. At that moment, Chat was hardly recognisable. For once, he wasn't projecting happiness. It was honest, his emptiness, and it broke her heart.

She stared out from the balcony, at the bird perched on the chimney pot opposite the bakery, and when she replied, her voice was sad. "I guess it doesn't matter."

"I guess it doesn't."

Despite being right next to her, close enough that she could feel the warmth emanating from his skin, it seemed as if Chat was a whole world away.

The wind picked up, spurring their hair into a frenzy, whipping their faces. It was getting colder as the night went on. "Come on, let's go inside. We'll catch our deaths out here," she said.

He didn't reply, only answering with a nod.

They clambered down into her room. Marinette had to turn to see if he was following. He was far too quiet. It was so unlike him.

Intending to go down into the kitchen, she was halfway down the steps from her bed to the floor when she realised he'd stopped moving and that he'd vanished from sight. Concern etched itself between her brows. She climbed back up.

Chat Noir was sat on the end of her bed, his head in his hands, shaking. Feeble noises escaped him. At first, she thought he was laughing. But when he looked up and she saw the devastation on his face and the tears on his cheeks, she could've slapped herself for being so naive.

He was crying so gently and softly that it hurt to watch. Within seconds, she was back up the steps and crouched in front of him. Everything about the way he was sat denoted not wanting to be touched, so she hesitated. But then his hands went to his hair, intent on pulling it as people often did when distressed, and she had to stop him.

Resting her palm on his cheek, she waited, earnestly trying to get him to look at her. Finally, he raised his head. His eyes were watery and filled with pain. They perused hers with intensity. For a moment, he wasn't crying. The expression on his face was desolate, as if he was desperately attempting to rebuild the eerie calmness he'd had only a minute before. The calmness had been a shield, hiding his pain from the world. It began to crumble as he broke down again, sobbing hopelessly.

Pulling him closer, she swaddled him in her arms, hand cradling the back of his head, smoothing his hair. He buried his head in her shoulder. For as long as he needed, she held him. It must've been twenty minutes before he even moved to pull away from her. Inhaling deeply, Chat rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat, glancing away as if ashamed.

Marinette frowned. "What's going on, Chat?"

The breath he'd been holding for a long moment escaped in a humourless huff. He sniffed. "My father is ill. Very ill."

For a minute, she wasn't sure what to say. Even though she didn't even know who Chat or his father was, his declaration left her feeling shocked and aggrieved. It confused her. She didn't know Chat's father, so why was she upset? Then, after considering this, guilt settled over her like a weighted net. _His father is seriously ill_ , she thought scornfully, _and here I am, thinking about how_ I _feel_.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said at last. "Will he get better?"

Chat didn't answer for a second, as if pondering his reply. "It's possible."

Instead of going on, he drew further away from her. Dropping backwards onto her bed, he curled up on his side on her bed, clutching a pillow fiercely to his chest. Hair askew, Chat looked so young and fragile. The vulnerability that clung to him reminded her of the boy she'd met all those years ago, who had a chip on his shoulder and something to prove, but always hid it behind a smile and a pun. "I feel so helpless, Mari," he muttered. "How worthless must I be if I can't even stop this?"

Her heart ached. Flopping down beside Chat, she rolled onto her side to face him. "Sometimes things happen that we can't control or prevent, minou. It's not your fault. Don't ever blame yourself," she whispered. "Your father knows you're there for him. That's what matters."

"But I'm not."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm not there for him, am I?" A tear trickled from the corner of his eye and made a dark spot bloom on the fabric of her duvet. "I went into that hospital room and just... _hated_ him. I walked out. And today... today I was going to leave altogether. I packed my suitcase and was halfway to the airport."

Marinette processed this for a second, mulling each word over in her head. Then, softly, she asked, "What made you stay?"

Green eyes flashed up and met hers. They were watery and hollow, piercingly sad. But his gaze was firm. "I realised that the only thing worse than this was dealing with it alone. Or just... being alone at all. I've been alone for so long, Mari. Now, there's someone I care about and... I don't want to leave her behind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda went MIA for a while, sorry guys. A whole two months without an update! I've been busy with AS exams and procrastination, hence the super long update time. 
> 
> Truth be told, this chapter sucked to write and as such, it sucks to read. It was a real pain in my ass. I've been doing so many Adrien POV chapters that I forgot how to write from Mari's perspective, so now she just sounds whiny. 
> 
> Anywho, thank you for reading! Hopefully, I'll be quicker to update next time.
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	15. The Meeting

Paris burnt orange as the last of the autumn leaves paved the city in gold. The night seeped further into the day, eating away at the light until darkness swallowed much of the evening. The city slowed as the tourist season crawled to the finish. 

It was the time of year that Marinette loved most about the city. Everything was so leisurely and docile. It was a welcome quell following the hectic months. 

Only, this year, all docility had flown out of the window. The laborious task of writing up two months worth of paperwork had consumed her day, leeching into her free time. The time for relaxation had passed in the year spent idle in the bakery.

Throwing back the last of her morning latte, Marinette grabbed a comb and tugged it through her hair. Muttering curses under her breath, she threw the comb onto the sofa and jogged downstairs to the bathroom to brush her teeth. The flavour combination of coffee and spearmint was _not_ pleasant.

"Of all days, Marinette! Why didn't you set an alarm?" Tikki cried for, at best, the seventh time that morning. 

Preoccupied with brushing her teeth, Marinette cast a pointed look at the kwami and mumbled a reply around her toothbrush. At Tikki's blank expression, she removed the toothbrush from her mouth and repeated, "I don't have one! I broke it on the wall, remember?" Her voice was garbled by the toothpaste. 

"The meeting is in an hour!" 

"I _know_!" replied Marinette in frustration. Toothpaste dribbled out of her mouth and down the front of her black blouse. _Really_? The series of unfortunate events brought on by her urgency only continued, it seemed. That morning had already brought the devastation of a stubbed toe and a cracked phone screen. Now she had to change her shirt too. 

The meeting - _oh goodness had it already been a week?_ \- had crept up on her. That morning, when she'd woken up an hour late, the reality of it had hit her like a tonne of bricks. While she wasn't due at work for another half an hour - "So we have half an hour to make sure we've got anything," Annette had said - she was running dangerously close to being late.  _Of course this happened today_ , she thought as she pounded back up two flights of stairs to change her shirt. 

Outside, the rain fell in a sheet, straight down, undisturbed by the lack of wind. It was the light, misty sort of rain that got you soaked without you noticing. Typical Autumn weather. At least it wasn't an all-out downpour. 

Grabbing an umbrella and her purse - Tikki was happy she'd chosen the waterproof one - Marinette scrambled downstairs and out of the door. 

In the rain, the streets were almost empty. A few hardy souls, outfitted in raincoats or umbrellas or - as in one poor gent's case - just a t-shirt, braved the weather, undoubtedly with a task deemed important enough to brave the weather.

Rain patted her umbrella softly, dripping from the edges and attempting to splash her. The air smelt strongly of ozone and mildewing leaves. It was a refreshing scent, one she missed when the weather was dry and hot. However, ozone typically promised a storm, which, on a day when she was carrying copious amounts of paperwork to- 

"Oh no," she said, stopping in her tracks. 

Tikki poked her head out of her purse, looking less than pleased when a drop of water fell on her head. "What?"

How could she have forgotten? Glancing at her watch, she squeaked. "The paperwork! I forgot the paperwork!" 

As if the revelation sent a bolt through the heavens, the tinny ringtone of her phone sounded. Apologising to Tikki, Marinette dug around in her purse to find the blasted thing. Why was it that whenever you were looking for a ringing mobile, it suddenly went awol? Finally producing it from her bag with a flourish, she answered. Before she could get in a word of greeting, Annette cried, "Please tell me you're almost here!"

Panic settled. "Uh, yeah, about that-"

"Marinette!" Annette shrieked. "Don't tell me you're late!"

Unfortunately for the design team, Annette had been jittery all week. It had been a close call on the deadline, with Haruhi calling in sick for three days due to food poisoning and Adrien electing to work from home ("He's licking his wounds, no doubt," Annette had said). For a hot minute, it had been doubtful that they'd ever finish on time. It had taken a week's worth of late nights to achieve it. In that time, they'd suffered Annette's twitterpating and snappish temper. It had become abundantly clear in the last two days that Annette had not been sleeping. Her tether had been rather short and, as such, they'd been walking on eggshells around her all week. 

A hesitant noise escaped her. The wrath of her boss was almost tangible through the phone. "I wasn't going to be!"

"What, did you change your mind?" The heavy sarcasm made her bite her lip. 

"I'm halfway to the studio-"

"Thank goodness."

"- but I just realised that I may have left, uh... all the documents I took last night behind. They're on the coffee table in my living room."

For a long moment, the phone was silent. Then Annette sighed, calmer than Marinette had anticipated. "You promised when you took them that you'd have them finished. Without these files, we can't go to the meeting."

"They _are_ finished! I just forgot them," explained Marinette insistently. "I'll run back home and get them."

Oh, Annette was most definitely not pleased. If anything, she sounded as if she was deliberating between being furious and incredibly disappointed. As it turned out, she settled on exasperation. "Please hurry," said Annette curtly, hanging up immediately. 

Turning on her heel, Marinette briskly marched home. All the while, she was mentally cursing her own foolishness. Sure, she'd remembered her mint chapstick but forgotten the most important documents for the meeting. _Brilliant, Marinette. Absolutely stellar professionalism. Annette most definitely hates you now._

The rain seemed to be pushing back at her, hindering the journey. The umbrella acted as somewhat of a windbreak. It also slowed her down. Collapsing it, Marinette began to jog as best she could in four-inch heels. A superhero who couldn't jog in heels wasn't worth her salt, after all.

Throughout the week, Annette had persistently reminded them of the importance of appearances. "Dress to make an impression. Nothing flashy, just a step up from what you might wear to the office. That means no flats, ladies. Think 'empowering'. We'll show them just what we're capable of. They'll regret underestimating us!" Annette had cheerfully - and ritualistically - reminded them. The exact phrase was drilled into her brain. _Dress to impress_. With the weather fighting her at every turn, soaking her feet, clothes, hair and most definitely her makeup, Marinette doubted she'd impress anyone except the usual catcallers, who had low standards and moral principles either way. 

The bakery came into view after a further five minutes of jogging. Relief couldn't cover how Marinette felt at that moment. Fumbling with her keys, she jammed them in the lock, propping the door closed behind her as she raced up two flights of stairs to the living room. Setting her soaked umbrella on the worktop, she scurried to the coffee table, where she had indeed abandoned them the night before. It had been past midnight by the time she'd finished them all and spell-checked the notes. It was like being a student again. 

Grabbing the documents, she was halfway down the stairs before she slapped her own forehead. "A bag! They'll get soaked!" 

Tikki audibly groaned as Marinette ran back upstairs. 

A few minutes and a lot of panicked swearing later, the misfortunate designer was locking up the bakery for the second time in under an hour. For a superhero whose primary ability was luck, she seemed to be having none of it.

She checked her watch. To be on time, she had to be there in fifteen minutes. It was a twenty-five-minute walk at a push. _I'll just have to powerwalk_ , she thought, sparing an apologetic look at her feet. Heels, as powerful as they made her feel, had never been something she'd got used to. Hours of breaking her feet in, attempting to tolerate them for lengthy periods of time, never seemed to work. Of course, heels weren't comfortable for anyone. Marinette felt, however, that the shoes exercised a particular brand of vehemency towards her that they reserved for very few people. Alas. She appreciated the aesthetic, regardless of how the balls of her feet were already beginning to ache. 

Powering through the streets like a woman possessed, Marinette cursed for jinxing herself earlier that day. The light, misty sort of rain that had caressed the streets of Paris less than twenty minutes before? Gone. It had been replaced by its big brother, a spiteful and violently strong downpour. 

Better yet, in her fervour to grab the files and get to the studio as quickly as possible, her umbrella had been abandoned on the worktop.  There was no time to retrieve it. She'd just have to endure getting soaked and being uncomfortable all day. Brilliant.

Face scrunched against the rain, she ploughed on. 

When she finally reached the office, she was ten minutes late and closely resembled a drowned rat, but she'd brought the last documents they needed. The meeting could go on as planned. 

"You cut that pretty close," remarked Annette drily. Out of all the designers, Annette was the one who had adhered to the dress code she'd carefully and persistently laid out all week. Karen and Marinette were somewhat demure in monochromatic colours, though Karen wasn't sporting the 'recently drowned' style. Even Haruhi had tamed her typically strong palette of plum and honeysuckle pink to an elegant coral cocktail dress and white blazer. On the other hand, Annette's fashion choice for the day was surprisingly brazen. Sure, her taste was always a little extravagant, but the bold pattern of her teal suit and the orange of her blouse and shoes was far from the expected look. 

Fussing her soggy hair into some semblance of order, Marinette flushed. "Sorry. I was halfway to the studio before I realised I'd forgotten them."

Accepting the files, Annette organised them into the piles that were arranged on the desk in front of her. Colour coordinated and alphabetised, all the stops had been pulled out in order to make sure that the documents were perfect and the meeting went as well as possible. The meeting was the be-all-and-end-all. Once it was over, either they'd be employed or their careers would be over. None of them was enthralled by the latter prospect. Collectively, they had forty years of experience in the industry. That was precious time that none of them wanted to lose. 

Clasping her hands, Karen stood from where she perched on her seat. "Are we waiting for him?"

"Yes." Annette's voice had left little room for argument. This didn't phase Karen in the slightest.

"A waste of time if you ask me," said Karen. The tone of her voice wasn't bitter, simply practical and blunt. "He's neglected his employees, risking all of our careers, including his own. I say you go into that meeting without him."

The air conditioning kicked in, blasting them all with unpleasantly stale, cool air. The sound seemed to reverberate around the office, a warning. Sato, who stood meticulously running a comb through her box fringe, answered, "Not happening. They specifically requested his attendance."

Sighing, Annette straightened the stacks of paperwork. The jitters had set in. She seemed incapable of sitting still. "Adrien will turn up."

"Didn't he say he was leaving? Has anyone actually heard from him since he stormed out?" Karen said. "If he's not here in five minutes, then do this without him. May the axe fall on his head, not ours."

"Karen," said Marinette tentatively, "please try to be understanding. He was clearly not okay last week. As much as his absence has caused problems, we've made our deadline with minimal help from him. We've proven we're capable. I'm sure he'll turn up."

"Even if he doesn't, Marinette has a point. We _are_ capable, not that I ever doubted we would be. All things considered, if we get permission to finish the project, then we know we don't need Adrien's help to do so," said Haruhi. "Don't get me wrong, I'd prefer it if he were here. But if we can't rely on him at this point in time, we have no choice but to endure on our own."

The discussion made Marinette uncomfortable. The team's lack of faith in their boss was disheartening. Sure, Adrien hadn't been as... _present_ as she hoped he'd be. He'd messaged her only once since the week before. Even then, it had only been a text to notify her of the meeting time. It had been a mass text to all of the designers. All of her messages of concern had been left unanswered. The radio silence hadn't made her resentful, in fact, it was quite the opposite. She saw more of herself in him than she'd previously noticed. Clearly, he was hurting. He wanted to be alone. Whatever he was dealing with, Adrien thought it was something he had to deal with alone. It was the same way she dealt with Nathaniel's abandonment. 

No, she didn't resent Adrien for isolating himself, not that the other designers did either. All she felt was pity. 

 

* * *

 

When the lift doors slid shut behind him, every eye found him. 

For the past week, Adrien had kept to himself. He hadn't wanted to upset the designers further by bringing his foul mood to the office with him. It had taken him a few days to decide if he wanted to go to the meeting. After all, it wasn't like Annette needed him. But the guilt of his absence weighed on him. If he didn't attend the meeting as he had promised, the board would most certainly take note. It wasn't professional for a CEO to not keep his appointments, ditching them simply because he couldn't bring himself to face the team he'd let down. The long-term repercussions on his reputation would be catastrophic. The board didn't need more excuses to view him unfavourably. But it wouldn't just affect him. What did it look like to the board if the CEO who'd so viciously advocated for it to progress abandoned it? If he didn't attend, the board were more likely to abandon the project, ruining the careers of all the team. He couldn't do that to them. 

The faces that greeted him were solemn. 

"So, are you coming back to work now, grumpy-pants?" said Annette, looking somewhat miffed. He wasn't surprised that she was less than pleased. "The team need you, Adrien. You're letting us down. Whatever you've got going on, you have to set personal issues aside. Your career is riding on the success of this project, and we can't do it without you."

Well, that was certainly a cold welcome. He knew he deserved it. That didn't mean it didn't sting any less. "I know," he replied quietly. Approaching the desk that they all gathered around, he forced himself to meet their eyes. Rapping his knuckles on the surface, he was pensive. "Before we go in, I'd like to say that I'm sorry about my outburst."

Karen looked at him expectantly. It was clear that what little good opinion she may have had for him the week before had dissipated. "And?"

"It was uncalled for. From now on, no personal issues in the office." 

"No, we can have personal issues in the office," said Marinette, "but we have to keep them _in_ the office. No working from home." Her tone was teasing, but she looked relieved. There was something about the gentleness of her expression that disarmed him. It didn't help that she'd obviously got caught in the rain. The way her hair curled at the ends when it was wet and the ruddy colour of her cheeks from the cold was endearing. The rain had also turned her white blouse somewhat translucent. He looked away, lest he stare. 

Adrien chuckled. Trust Marinette to cheer him up. "Alright, Dupain-Cheng. It's a deal."

Beside him, Annette checked her watch. "Right, well, if all the heart-warming reconciliation is over, we have to get across town to Le Meurice. We have to be there in ten minutes."

Karen whistled. It was, perhaps, one of the few times she'd shown her approval for anything. "Swanky place, Le Meurice."

He tugged at the cufflinks of his tuxedo. "The Gorilla's waiting outside for us. Gather your things, m'lady." Together, they grabbed the stacks of documents, careful not to drop them. That'd be a nightmare. Annette would've had an aneurysm if all her coordinated filing was ruined by one act of clumsiness. 

Haruhi hurried to press the button to call the lift. As the doors opened, Adrien and Annette cast them one last anxious look over their shoulders. "I wish you could come with us," said Annette regretfully, "but protocol is protocol."

"So all this dressing up was for nothing? A week's worth of lectures about keeping up appearances and they won't even see us?" Haruhi queried, looking mournfully at her dress. Clearly, she considered the outfit wasted. 

He smiled apologetically. "We weren't sure where they wanted to meet until last minute, Sato. At first, they wanted to meet here, but with the state of this office and our lack of a proper meeting room, I managed to convince them to go elsewhere. It was for the best that we were prepared for every eventuality. You all look beautiful, in any case. Though, Mari, you should probably remember your umbrella when it rains." Marinette blushed furiously. He laughed as the doors closed. 

 

* * *

 

La Meurice was revered as one of Paris' grandest restaurants, offering its patrons the finest example of Gallic gastronomic splendour. It was the kind of impudently posh place where dinner jackets were compulsory. All of the customers were dressed up to the nines. The waiting list for the restaurant was long, but connections had their benefits. 

Everything about the interior screamed 'lavish'; a harmonious blend of 18th-century luxury and modern comforts. Mosaic floors were polished, scrubbed with such a keen eye that the room was practically reflected in the glossy tiles. The walls were intricately maintained; pale walls framed by marble columns and intricate gold-gilded coving. The frescoed ceiling was hung with crystal chandeliers that illuminated the room. Heavy damask curtains framed the windows, overlooking the Tuileries Gardens that lay across the street. The room smelt delicately of food, not so overpowering as to be unpleasant but just enough to encourage appetite. 

They took their seats. The board members were yet to arrive. Arranging the files around them, neatly so as not to disturb the elegant table arrangements, they waited. Waiters served them sparkling glasses of champagne, teeming with bubbles like tiny stars. A menu was offered, but they politely declined until their company arrived. It was far too early in the day for champagne and a three-course meal in his opinion, but there was a routine to these meetings that was as definite as it was expensive.

"They're late," muttered Annette. She checked her watch for the eighth time in as many minutes. He fought the urge to tell her that checking her watch incessantly didn't make time fly any quicker. 

He readjusted his cufflinks again. The cuffs of his shirt were stiff with newness. It was irritating. "They're always late. I'm pretty sure they just like to make people nervous."

"We're already nervous. This is just excessive."

Of course, she was right. It was fifteen minutes before the board members arrived. Annette was halfway through her glass of champagne, which she'd been nervously sipping between each glance at her watch. 

The board members represented the _Gabriel_ brand perfectly. The style of the company had always been professional and sleek. The most outlandish thing they'd ever produced or modelled was the pigeon-feather derby hat that Marinette made when they were fourteen. Not that the brand was boring, it was simply very austere, in some ways.

As the Chief Executive of Finance, Jacques Durand, the most senior board member in both professional and physical capacity, was the most fitting example of that. His grey hair was close-cropped. His suit was a black four-piece with matching black brogues and silver cuff-links. He was all clean-lines and crisply pressed fabric. Durand was a man you'd expect to see as the face of a bank or law firm, not a fashion empire. He greeted Adrien and Annette with a firm handshake, perfected down to the appropriate pressure and length. Ah, Adrien had not missed this man. 

They all took their seats. The other board members were sat on either side of Jacques. Taking a moment to order, Annette offered them each a set of files. Perusing at their leisure, none of the four board members looked up from the page unless it was to grab their glass of champagne or water or cast a furtive glance at another member. Adrien was used to their intimidation tactics. It was his firm belief that they acted so indifferent to intentionally cause distress. They must have perfected the tactic over time, as Durand had perfected his handshake. Annette, despite her nerves of steel, clasped his hand beneath the table. Her palms were sweaty, but she knew how to appear calm and collected. Her face was a mask of detachment. 

The starters arrived, stirring pleasant but irrelevant small talk that somewhat irritated him. The games that businessmen played were tiresome at best, murderous at worst. Seven years of retaining the shards of the company's reputation and building his ability as a CEO had allowed him to build a tolerance to them, but it didn't make them less tedious. Couldn't they just tell them what their verdict was? _Sooner rather than later too_ , he thought peevishly. Annette was clutching his hand so tightly his fingers had gone numb.

The assessment continued between the courses. Once the main and dessert had been and gone and they all sat with after-dinner coffees, the board began to talk business. It was Camille who prompted the conversation. Camille Dubois-Lefebvre was the Chief Executive and overseer of Operations. An impressive woman, she sat confidently beside Durand with a cool expression. Her blonde hair was styled into an elegant French twist so smooth that it appeared to be silk rather than hair. Her deep blue cocktail dress was adorned with intricate lace detailing, with a complementary black blazer nipped smartly in at the waist. "Well, this portfolio is... different," she began. "It is not something I would choose to represent our company, typically."

"I agree," said the Chief Executive of Marketing. His name was Cristoffer Bjornsson and other than the fact he was the youngest of the executives present, Adrien knew very little about him. His appearance was that of a typical businessman, quite akin to Durand, if you excused the dyed silver hair. "Madame, this project is, as you are likely aware, nothing like the current portfolio on sale. It's very individual and definitely well designed, but the feeling I get from these designs is something that is, perhaps, too individual. The disparity between these designs and those found in this brand is worrying."

Mentally, Adrien was cursing. It was rare that the executives were so forward about their opinions in meetings. They usually saved the slander for behind closed doors, away from the keen ears of those who might take offence. Their forwardness alarmed him. That much was undeniable. For the first time, Adrien was thrown into doubt about the project. He'd been so certain it would be a success. If it didn't even get off the ground then all the work he'd poured into rebuilding the company and the Agreste reputation over the past seven years was for nought. He'd be a laughing stock amongst his peers, and if word reached the press, then there was very little he could do to salvage the tattered pieces of his reputation. Then there was the effect on the other designers. Annette was a brilliant designer. If her first project failed and her fragile foothold in the fashion industry was destroyed, then it would be nigh on impossible to work her way back up. From what he'd gathered, it had taken her many years to put the portfolio together to begin with. Unexpected motherhood, the loss of her father and the lack of an art or textiles degree had done little in her career's favour. Then there was Haruhi, who was up-and-coming in the Tokyo design team, quickly becoming one of the best designers and developers in the company. She'd left her beloved husband and cat behind in Japan just to join a tumultuous project, simply because he'd asked her to. All of her promise was wasted if the project didn't come to fruition. On the other hand, Karen was less of a concern. She had enough backbone and sheer spite to rebuild a reputation from the ground up, regardless of the outcome of the project. The doors to Gabriel would close for her, but it wouldn't surprise him if she endeavoured to start her own fashion line just to flip the bird at those closed doors. 

Then there was Marinette. Thinking about her, still so tentative and anxious about her abilities, made something in his chest lurch. Another dramatic letdown in the fashion industry would destroy what little confidence in herself and her designing prowess that she'd regained. He recalled their conversation on the balcony, when she'd poured out her heart in a fumbling of drunk words and messy tears, and steeled his resolve. The project couldn't fail. He couldn't let her - or any of the team - suffer the consequences that loomed on the back of this project. 

"There have been decreasing sales for the past year and a half," he reminded them firmly. "We have to innovate or we face losses or liquidation. As a company, we must adapt to customer demands and we've been lax in doing so for far too long. This project presents an opportunity for change that any of our competitors would jump at the chance to get their hands on. It's unique, adaptable and will reinvent this company for the better. If we cling to the past then we miss the chance to seize the future." His father came to mind then. _Hypocrite_ , he seemed to say. 

The executives contemplated this for a moment. Dariya Manzoor, the Chief Executive of Human Resources, steepled her fingers on the table. She had declined a coffee, keeping to water as she had for the entire morning. Adrien had always found her to be the friendliest and most reasonable of the four board members. There was something about the soft oval of her face and the twinkle in her dark eyes that radiated compassion. She had a similar fashion sense to Karen in that she favoured tailored pantsuits with, except Dariya favoured pastel colours accentuated with brocade patterns. Her chiffon hijab - a lovely shade of dusty pink - complemented her suit perfectly. 

Dariya cleared her throat. "I happen to agree. Gabriel Agreste was a brilliant designer and his designs have set up a strong company, but we must distance ourselves from the style that has limited our horizons in recent years." When Durand opened his mouth to interrupt, she held up her hand to demand his patience. "Though I share your concerns. The disparity between the current demure style and Mademoiselle Bergé's is rather concerning. However, the change does not need to be immediate. The project before us offers us an ultimatum. Not using it will leave our brand image unchanged, but we risk issues in the future. Using it will allow us to present an entirely new image and slowly integrate such a style into our products and aid in modernising our design portfolio, though this may displease some of our loyal customers. In either case, a risk must be taken."

There was a long silence as the other three mulled this over. Beside him, Annette was coiled as tight as a spring. Carefully she cleared her throat. "What you see in those files is only a few short months worth of compilation. I have adapted them to better suit the _Gabriel_ brand in this time, with the help of my team. To say we've had such a short period to accomplish this, I'm proud of it. Imagine what we could achieve with a longer timescale. The mere idea of this could be revolutionary for this company. My team is the best I could hope for and I strongly believe we are capable of proving the value of this project and the success it will yield in the future." 

"Strong words," said Durand, but his words were without arrogance. The expression on his face was contemplative, though not wholly pleased. His thick brows furrowed. "I retain my opinion that the designs are simply too outlandish to harmonise with the products currently in circulation. Change, in some cases, is good but I cannot see how pouring funding into such a risky endeavour is wise. This is not an attack on your abilities, Mademoiselle Bergé, simply an observation of the modernity of the designs in comparison with the demure reputation of our company."

Annette nodded solemnly. Adrien knew she'd vent about this later. After all, how could she not be upset or at least slightly insulted? The project was being slated by all but one member of the board. The outcome did not look good. The more he heard of the board's opinions, the less inclined he was to believe that they would receive permission and funding to continue development. Failure was a way to learn from your mistakes, usually, but failure now? It would be the end of all of them. He knew the project was not a mistake, so there would be nothing to learn from. Every member of the team had entered into the arrangement with full knowledge of its risks. They knew the cost. Only he hadn't been willing to see them pay it. Guilt rose in his throat.

Camille quirked her mouth. "I am inclined to agree. It's no small project you're proposing. This could be either revolutionary or disastrous; there's no middle ground here. Though Madame Manzoor raises a legitimate point. We must consider this. It's no secret that our sales are struggling in recent years. Action must be taken before our competitors get wind of our decline or they will exploit our vulnerability."

"It's an interesting proposition, regardless," said Cristoffer. "We'd be fools not to see that much. It's worth consideration. If we're unwilling to take risks, we shouldn't even be in business. Risks are an occupational necessity."

There was a murmur of dissent from the others. Adrien gave Annette's hand a reassuring squeeze. They may be on a more even footing at this point. Her deep brown eyes met his. They were lit with something akin to mischief. Then she said, "Let's order another round of coffees. Then how about you review the files once more?"

 

* * *

 

Marinette was sick of waiting. Adrien and Annette had been gone for over four hours. It was past noon. Anxiety was eating her from the inside out, bruising the inside of her chest. How long did it take to have a meal and read through some files? Surely the board had been sitting on their actual decision for months. The meeting was probably just the board wanting to make them simmer for a while, waiting for the stress to reach breaking point. It seemed like the sort of sadistic thing that powerful businessmen would do. 

Part of her wished Chat Noir was there with her. Something about him put her at ease. His presence was comforting. Ten years apart had done little to damage her regard for him, apparently. There was a gentleness and honesty in him that had matured in their separation. She knew that he was keeping something from her, but who was she to expect him to spill his guts to her? All that mattered was that she could rely on him in a way she hadn't relied on anyone for a long time. Not since Nathaniel. 

The longer she waited for Adrien and Annette to return, the more she longed for Chat to be there. His lighthearted teasing and easy smile were needed to cut the choking tension that consumed the studio. Her heart ached. All she wanted at that moment was to be greeted by a broad grin and twinkling green eyes. 

Haruhi pressed a glass of water into her hand, drawing her from the recesses of her thoughts. "Here. You've been staring at the lift for twenty minutes so I thought you were beginning to petrify." 

Smiling gratefully, she sipped at the water. "Just... lost in thought I guess." 

"Oh, that much was obvious. What were you thinking about?"

"I'm just missing a friend. Waiting here reminded me of him, I guess." 

Sato plopped down on the desk beside her, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Same here. Only mine's my husband. The Internet has been down in our apartment so we can't video chat. Who's yours?"

"An old friend. We bumped into each other again quite recently. I kinda wish he was here now. Being around him would make this waiting more bearable," replied Marinette, almost to herself. There was a long silence and Marinette glanced at Haruhi, half expecting for her to have not heard her. Instead, she found Sato smiling this little lucrative smile, as if she knew something that Marinette didn't. "What?"

"You seem quite taken with this fellow."

It took Marinette a minute to grasp what was insinuated. Blood rushed to her face. Gosh, she felt like a silly teenager to blush so terribly. "You've got the wrong idea!"

Sato clasped her hands and gazed towards the ceiling like lovesick damsels did in theatre productions. A modern-day Juliet. "Oh, how sweet it is. Pining for someone. It's lovely but gets tiring. I'm glad I'm married now," she said with a sigh. "I don't have to pine over him now we're married. It saves a lot of emotional energy."

Marinette snorted, fanning her cheeks in embarrassment. "There is no _pining._ We've seen each other a handful of times, that's it. Besides, we're friends."

"It always begins that way. Hiroshi and I couldn't stand each other at first. He was my rival in Fine Art in school. Then we were put on a project together and pretty soon we couldn't bear to be apart. My mother was not impressed."

 _Oh, why me?_ thought Marinette, who'd turned an even more embarrassing shade of strawberry. "Sato, it's really not-"

Before she could finish explaining herself, the lift began to groan, indicating its use. They all sprung to attention, rushing closer to the doors. _Ping_. The doors slid open. 

Adrien and Annette looked exhausted. Annette looked as if she was ready to burst, and Adrien's hair was mussed from running his hands through it as he did when he was nervous. They exited the lift and stood in front of them, neither offering any information. 

Karen hissed through her teeth impatiently. "Well?"

"The board spent the majority of the meeting talking about anything other than the bloody project. It was almost impossible to get a word in edge-ways because of all the small talk," Annette said. She must've been picking at her manicure during the meeting because her lovely nails were chipped. Such a shame. The colour had been lovely. 

"And?"

Adrien took over. "They certainly didn't hide their criticisms. God, they really ripped into all of the work."

The tension in the room could've been cut with a knife. A bad feeling swirled in her stomach. Something seemed wrong. The way they were talking... it didn't bode well. She didn't know what she'd do if they failed. Sure, she hadn't been working on it for very long but the others had and she knew how much it meant to all of them. A lot was riding on the success of the meeting. 

Annette gave an insouciant shrug. "Well, they were very serious and voiced legitimate concerns. Unfortunately-"

Everyone's face dropped, except for Karen's, who simply said, "For goodness sake, Miss Bergé, spit it out."

"- you're stuck with me until Spring Fashion Week." A beat. Everyone took a moment to process what she'd said. Until Fashion Week? That meant-

Haruhi squealed. "You mean-?!"

"They've approved the project!" 

The office erupted into chaos. Haruhi threw herself at Annette, who stumbled to catch her. Karen rushed over to her desk, running faster than Marinette had ever seen anyone run in stilettos. She returned with a bottle of wine, which must've been stashed in her handbag. Smiling, she popped the cork and poured everyone half a mug of wine because despite remembering the wine, she'd apparently forgotten the glasses. 

Elation shocked every fibre of Marinette's being, a fuzzy feeling encapsulating her from head to toe. Laughing with delight, she wrapped her arms around Annette and Haruhi, then Karen, planting kisses on their cheeks. She finally got to Adrien, who stood a little apart from them, clapping and grinning. 

Arms wrapped tightly around him, she stretched onto her tiptoes and whispered into his ear. "Thank you." Pulling away, she pressed her hands on either side of his face and planted a kiss on both his cheeks. Adrien's green eyes twinkled as he laughed along with them, his ears tinged pink. 

Extricating herself from Haruhi's elated hugs, Annette grabbed her mug and raised it high. "Here's to all of you, without whom I would not be standing in this studio today, celebrating this wonderful occasion. So, thank you. Here's to success!"

They all raised their mugs, clinking them together with a cheer. Marinette met Adrien's eyes and beamed. The future, it turned out, wasn't so bleak after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all just cross our fingers and pretend like the changing perspectives every few hundred words wasn't like watching a game of tennis. 
> 
> Anywho, what are your opinions so far?
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	16. A Dance

As a reward for the meeting's success and strenuously working since their arrival, Annette had ordered that the whole team take the following two days off. Of course, they'd have to work for the full four days after the meeting to make up for it but no one was complaining. The joy of still being both reputable and employed was enough to cushion them through the rest of the week.

First thing Tuesday morning, everyone had received the same group text from Adrien.

**Adrien: _Halloween Party at Concrete. My treat. Bring your dancing shoes and a costume, ladies ;)_**

It was a surprise, to say the least. She'd tried pestering him for more information about it but he'd replied with a meme and said nothing else. After asking the others, it appeared they'd all received a similar response if they inquired as to the nature of the event.

Curse that man. Now Marinette had the problem of digging a costume from somewhere within the realms of her room. The last time Marinette had even come close to dressing up for Halloween had been at a campus party in Belgium over two years before. If she could find that costume then maybe she wouldn't have to go all out. Nothing was worse than being stuck in an uncomfortable costume all night.

"You could always go as Ladybug," offered Tikki helpfully.

Marinette laughed. "I can imagine how well that would turn out. 'Famous Paris Heroine crashes private party that she would have no way of knowing about'. The press would have a field day."

" _Alya_ would have a field day!"

"She'd come home just to report on this! Heck, she'd probably uncover my identity in the process."

"That would certainly set the mood for the party!" Tikki laughed.

Marinette continued to scour her room, pawing through boxes that had been unopened for years. Why did she hoard so much clutter? "If only Chat Noir would be there. Then she'd uncover the both of us."

"Oh, that would make her year. Can you imagine the Ladyblog?" The kwami was almost beside herself with giggles.

Pouting, Marinette stopped her search. "Where did I put my Raven costume? Y'know, the one that I wore to the Halloween party with Nate when he went as Beast Boy?" She remembered that she'd cut her hair into a severe bob for that party. Nate had _loved_ it. That had also been the party where he'd had used off-brand green hairspray and it had stained his hair an awful sludge colour. Nate _hadn't_ loved that. He'd sulked about it for days. He referred to the party as "The Half-Disaster One" for over a year after that. He never used green hairspray again.

The kwami shook her head, finally suppressing her amusement. "I'm pretty sure you left it behind in Belgium by accident. Didn't you lend it to Helena?" Ah, yes. Helena. Marinette's roommate for the years she was at university. She'd had a bad habit of borrowing things and forgetting she'd borrowed them. Marinette couldn't even remember why Helena had borrowed it. Cosplay? Something new with her enbyfriend? She supposed that it didn't matter either way. Some things should stay in the past, even one half of a couples costume.

Ugh. Adrien and all his creative thinking had got her into quite the dilemma.

"You could wear what you wore to the Halloween party the year after. The eye-catching one," Tikki suggested. She had been in deep contemplation for a few minutes at that point, red brow furrowed in concentration, arm tapping her chin.

It was like she'd had an epiphany. "Tikki, you're a genius!"

"I do try."

And so Marinette went back to her routing, fervour renewed.

At last, Marinette found what she was looking for. It had been a hit at the last Halloween party she went to, during her last year at university, the year after the whole "Raven and Beast Boy" semi-disaster. She remembered how Nathaniel couldn't take his eyes off her all night (or his hands off her once they left the party). It was a recipe for trouble, dredging up old memories like that, but she wasn't going the let the past ruin the party. She grinned despite herself. What better costume than the one she now held? It had made her feel so confident last time. It had been a long time since she'd felt happy enough to show off. It was Halloween; _everyone_ showed off. Now, she was going to own it. Given the amount of work and hours she'd put into the project already, she deserved some time to have fun, didn't she?

 _Yes_ , she thought mischievously, _purr-fect_.

 

* * *

 

It was going to be perfect.

After the meeting had ended, the idea had come to Adrien with all the force of a sixteen-wheeler ramming into the side of his head. It had bounced around his brain for days until he'd managed to orchestrate a meeting with Natalie to negotiate the planning process for the party.

It had taken a fair amount of favours and hastily arranged meetings to set up the event in such a short period of time. He'd even had a few long-distance phone calls in the hopes of making the event an even greater night to remember. He only hoped that he'd done the task justice.

Adrien's costume was dear to his heart. His mother had loved _The Phantom of the Opera_ and they'd watched it together every weekend when he was little, though it had scared him when he was particularly young. Thus, he donned the mask of the Phantom. As the club he'd decided on was far too popular to rent out for a whole night, he figured that the mask would conceal his identity well enough that the party wouldn't be disturbed by any intrusive fans from his modelling days. It also helped in that he looked ridiculously cool, if he said so himself.

He made sure that he arrived before everyone else. After all, it wasn't hospitable for the host to arrive after his guests. It also gave him the opportunity to scope the club out before the crowd of clubbers descended on it once darkness fell. The club he'd decided on was one called _Concrete_. Despite the name, the club itself was far from bog-standard.

The club was, in fact, a barge. It was anchored near one of Paris' most beautiful sites, near to Place de la Bastille. It seemed like a large club until the crowds arrived. Once the dance floor filled, the atmosphere became close and intimate. It didn't feel lonely like many other clubs tended to. The crowd was one entity, rather than innumerable bodies cramped together, touching but distant. Even the DJ, usually caged off from the patrons, was stationed at the back of the dance floor where people could swarm and surround it, drawing the music into the spirit of the night. He'd never been anywhere quite like it.

Halloween was a wonderful time to party there. Adrien couldn't help but impishly grin at the thought of a barge full of ridiculously costumed drunk people. He wasn't much of a party-goer considering his sheltered childhood and the whole Bubbler incident, but even so, he was _excited_.

The club began to fill at around seven but the designers weren't due until half past eight. He didn't mind. It gave him time to adapt to the electricity in the air. The people had brought excitement with them, too, and it was intoxicating. Several people had offered to buy him a drink, despite the fact he already had a cocktail in hand. At one point, he'd been swarmed by a group of men dressed as lobsters, which had been... _interesting_ , to say the least.

The first of the group to arrive were Annette and Haruhi, who'd shared a taxi. They greeted him with a careful hug, neither wanting to damage their costumes. He was admittedly impressed by the intricacy of them considering how little notice he'd given.

Annette, who would only be at the party for two hours at the most due to "obligations to my infant daughter" and a "problem with the babysitter", was dressed as a witch, complete with pointed hat and green skin. "Elphaba," she provided, upon being asked if she was any witch in particular. "If only I could find a reliable Fiyero." That caused Haruhi to laugh.

Sato appeared to be dressed as some kind of elf. Her costume was made of sparkly pastel fabrics with hasty but detailed beading on the bodice and sheer fabric that draped from her shoulder to the cuffs on her wrists like mock wings. She even had pointed ears which "took a fair amount of difficulty and a few phone calls to acquire. Thanks for the short notice, Adrien."

They took their places by the bar, all drinking something fruity and fizzy, with something non-alcoholic for the 'responsible' Annette. They were content with people-watching, laughing at a few outlandish costumes and the mishaps that were unavoidable when the crowd was entirely drunk and screaming along to _Monster Mash_.

His eyes were drawn to the door every minute or so. He kept scanning the crowd for her, wondering if he'd just missed her. _Stop it Agreste_ , he thought sharply, _just drink your cocktail and focus on the party_. If only it were that simple. She was going to miss it if she didn't arrive soon enough.

Luckily, she came down the steps just as his gaze found the door again, about fifteen minutes after Sato and Annette had arrived. His jaw almost hit the floor. Me- _ow_. If Plagg could've seen her, he would've cackled for hours. _Of course_.

Stood by the entrance, her eyes scanned the crowd. The dimness of the room made them appear almost black, the blue only faintly reflected by the sweeping lights. Her expression was somewhat self-conscious, though he didn't see why. She was beautiful.

Hair styled into two tufted peaks ( _Like Wolverine from X-Men!_ _So badass!_ he thought with a grin), face adorned with sharp cat-eye eyeliner and cat whiskers, she was _paw_ -sitively adorable. The off-shoulder black playsuit, trailing a tail, only added to the effect. Then her eyes latched onto his. Marinette's self-conscious expression melted as she weaved through the crowd towards them.

 _Don't stare_ , he scolded himself. It was impossible not to.

"This is certainly something!" she shouted over the crowd. He still couldn't take his eyes off her, or close his slightly open mouth. Annette managed to snag his attention in the corner of his eye. Her expression was gleeful, a playful smirk tugging her lips. Adrien pointedly ignored her, managing to regain a little composure. "I must've looked at you at least three times but I couldn't recognise you behind that mask! If you had been less mysterious about all this, we could've collaborated! I could've been Christine. I _love_ Phantom!"

For a moment, he was struck dumb. A thick feeling clogged his throat. What was it? It didn't matter. Plagg was going to have a field day when he returned home either way. He put on his most devious smile. "Isn't that the point of the Phantom, Mari? Mystery and intrigue with just a splash of danger?" he said devilishly. "But you... _wow_. You look awesome."

At last, he wasn't the only one who looked sheepish. Marinette blushed slightly and laughed. "Certainly embodying the character, aren't we?"

"That's the thrill of Halloween." He threw an arm around her shoulder, gesturing around at the crowd with his free arm. "To be someone else for a whole night? It's the dream."

Marinette snorted. When she looked at him, her brow was raised sharply. God, she really suited that costume. "I think I'd be _feline_ a little more _fur-_ midable if I were truly embodying my character. Cats are badass." The look on her face was as devilish as his smile. It was one he wasn't too unfamiliar with, so coy and mischievous. It was a very Chat Noir-esque expression. A strange fluttery sensation settled in the hollow of his chest.

He pouted and extracted his arm from her shoulder. "Puns? Really? Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I will never _fur_ -get such an a- _paw_ -lling affront to my ears!"

"Neither will I!" groaned Sato loudly. She'd half attempted to cover her ears but it was a precarious business considering the silicone additions affixed to the tips. Her expression was pained beneath the alcohol-infused flush in her cheeks. "Seriously, go away."

Annette nodded her head in agreement. In a club like Cement, Annette was in her element even though she had complained several times that she was out of practice with the clubbing scene since having Fabienne. She had the same expression of glee as she had minutes before when Marinette had arrived.

"This is really good _mew_ -sic," he persisted. He managed to catch Marinette's eye, who immediately smiled. That _smile_.

Marinette folded her arms and looked at Haruhi with an expression that could only be described as evil. "Yeah, it's _claw_ -some."

"They really should do a _claw_ -laboration with Nino." He laughed, excited, what little alcohol he'd consumed going straight to his head. He had never been much of a drinker. The music changed from the second _Monster Mash_ remix to an indistinct dubstep song, the volume plummeting. The DJ had disappeared from the booth and the crowd murmured at the sudden lack of loud music. Their voices lowered on instinct, adapting to the quieter atmosphere. Fog flooded the dance floor. The volume of the dubstep began to build. Confusion and anticipation mingled with the hazy atmosphere.

Oh, they were going to love it, Marinette in particular. He found himself unable to wait longer. Leaning so that his mouth was by her ear, breath hardly disturbing the well-style coifs of her hair, he whispered, "Surprise."

A voice burst through the speakers, cutting through the now-booming dubstep track. "Ladies, gents and everyone in-between, give a Concrete welcome to-o-o-o-o... _NINO LAHIFFE!_ "

The crowd roared, those stood by the bar rushing back to the dance floor, driven by the electricity of the others. They clamoured around each other as a new track - Adrien recognised it as one of Nino's - began thumping from the speakers, the bass-line shaking the floor.

Nino stood from where he must've been crouched in the DJ booth, both arms in the air, hands throwing up peace signs. He hadn't changed much since they'd left school, forever favouring a nondescript t-shirt, jeans and a baseball cap or snap-back of some description. One side of his headset was pressed against his ear, his free hand altering the buttons on the booth set-up. In his element as always. He'd found true happiness in his work.

Marinette's eyes were as round as saucers, mouth gaping open in shock. Beside them, Haruhi shrieked and grabbed a nonplussed Annette, dragging her to the dance floor. They were swallowed by the crowd, lost in the mass of gyrating bodies.

"Did you organise all of this?" she shouted over the music. Still, he could hardly hear her. He nodded, smiling softly at the wondrous expression on her face. His cheeks felt warm. Then she threw her arms around him, squeezing his shoulders tightly. Shocked, it took him a moment to hug her back. When she drew away, she planted a kiss on both his cheeks. "This is amazing! I- I... You have to dance with me!"

God, did he want to. Usually, she wouldn't have to ask either. It'd be a lie to say he wasn't partial to dancing. As a teenager, it had been a hobby, something fun to do when he was pretending to practise the piano. But Marinette was spoken for. Forcing a shake of the head, he smiled. "No. I believe someone's about to ask you though." He jutted his chin forward, indicating for her to turn around. Her guardian angel was waiting for her.

Alya Césaire, unlike Nino, had changed a fair bit in the years since he'd last seen her. Her hair was shorter and her face less round. The glasses that adorned her face were, obviously, a completely different style. Even though she was in heels, it was obvious she'd gotten taller too. Despite remaining close friends with Nino since leaving school and despite Nino's relationship with Alya, Adrien hadn't seen her since he'd left. He felt rather guilty about it, actually, though he hadn't made a habit of seeing anyone else either.

Her angel costume seemed so distinct inside the darkness of the club. The fog billowing through the air off the dance floor gave her an ethereal quality as the coloured lights swept the room. Her smile, starkly white in the dimness, was brilliant. "Hey, kitty-kitty. Got time for a dance?"

Spinning to face her friend, Marinette shrieked. There were tears in her eyes as she practically jumped on Alya. Both women stumbled, off balance in their stilettos. Righting themselves, they clutched each other, both grinning like fools. After a moment they began rambling to each other, unintelligible strings of sentences that were overrun by each other. They stopped, laughing at their own giddiness. "Let's dance!" replied Marinette finally. Turning, Alya tugged her towards the dancers. Laughing, Marinette beamed at him over her shoulder before she too was lost in the crowd.

Standing alone at the bar, it felt nice to just observe. It was a guilty pleasure, people-watching. To look at someone and wonder about them was tantalisingly distracting. Why think about your own problems when you could wonder about someone else's? His mother would have tutted at his nosiness.

The mask had been a wise choice, it seemed. No one bothered him, even the people by the bar who were too drunk to keep dancing. Always hiding behind a mask. Is that what his life had become? One charade after another, keeping the masks in his pocket in case he needed them. Irony was a cruel mistress.

He sipped his cocktail, the umbrella brushing his top lip. He wasn't quite sure what the contents of his drink were but that was half the fun.

A woman approached him, attractive and tall, asking for a dance. Given that he was otherwise alone and people watching was growing less entertaining the longer he stood, he agreed. The music wasn't really something you could dance to in a 'together' sort of fashion, but the woman was happy to make it so. He decided he wasn't going to dance next time he was asked. The scantily clad woman owned her devil costume - he wouldn't have been surprised if she'd announced she was a model - but he was far too out of his comfort zone to be dancing so closely with a stranger, especially one so grabby. Was it normal to be so anxious and uncomfortable dancing with a pretty woman? Perhaps he was just a little too shy for it. After all, he hadn't been to university and as such had missed his scandalous partying stage. Such a thing would've destroyed what was left of his reputation at the time if the tabloids got hold of photos.

When the song was over, Adrien extricated himself from the octopus arms of the woman and excused himself, his cheeks burning. He was glad that the mask covered most of his face. Before he could leave, however, she planted a kiss on his cheek and winked, quickly turning away from him to scour the crowd for another partner. He smiled despite himself. Ah, clubs. They were strange places.

Marinette was stood by the bar when he got back, along with Sato and Annette. They were all red-faced and laughing breathlessly. The flush brought out the freckles on Marinette's nose. His cheeks warmed again, much to his irritation.

"A bit handsy, wasn't she?" said Annette with an amused grin.

He smiled, embarrassment growing. "Just a tad."

Haruhi was cackling loudly. "A tad? She was grabbing your-"

"I'm aware!" he interrupted. _Oh God, why me?_ he thought with a grimace. It was bad enough having himself as a witness to the woman's provocative dancing. It was mortifying that everyone else had seen it too. They'd never let him live it down. Clearing his throat, he looked around them. "Karen still not here?"

Clicking her tongue, Annette shook her head and replied, "You know Karen. The party doesn't start until she arrives. I doubt she'll be anywhere close to being on time."

"Yeah, where's the fun in that? It's not like an internationally famous DJ is doing a set or anything," said Haruhi, mouth quirked sardonically.

"So what else have you planned for tonight then, O Angel of Music?" said Annette. It seemed sarcasm was infectious. "Are you going to procure Jagged Stone from some cupboard somewhere? Open a door to reveal every left sock that I've ever lost?"

He wrinkled his nose at her, waving his hand at the bartender to order more drinks. When they all had a fresh glass in hand, conversation settled into witty chatter. Annette enlightened the group about the trials and tribulations faced by single parents, including nappy mishaps and the like. Haruhi steered the conversation towards her cat and husband, waiting at home for her in Japan, who had not had any nappy mishaps to her knowledge. She did say, however, that the cat was as close to children as she ever wanted to get. "Too messy and far too... children-y," she explained, scrunching her nose. Adrien thought of Plagg at that moment, who was both messy and children-y. The kwami would make anyone doubt desiring a cat or children at all.

Nino hooted something into the microphone and changed the track. Michael Jackson's _Thriller_ boomed from the speakers. After all, it was Halloween. It would be sacrilege for Nino not to play some iconic Halloween songs. Beside him, Sato let out a supersonic shriek and grabbed Annette fervently by the forearm. "We _have_ to dance!"

The look on Annette's face could only be described as 'deer in headlights'. "Oh no, no thanks. Not me. I think I'll just- Agh!" Too late. Haruhi had claimed her. Nothing more could be done to save her. He watched with faint amusement as Annette glared at him as she was eaten by the crowd.

"Should we have done something?" said Marinette lightly, sipping her drink.

"Nah."

"Didn't think so." There was silence for a minute as they watched the crowd all fall into a similar routine. Poorly performed, alcohol-influenced renditions of the _Thriller_ choreography was certainly entertaining. "This was really thoughtful of you, Adrien. We all needed this, so... thank you."

Glancing to where she sat on the bar stool beside him, he wondered how it came to be that he'd found such a wonderful woman to be his friend. The sincerity in her eyes was reassuring in the midst of the electric atmosphere of the club. Her bare legs swayed in time to the music and his eyes found the puckered scar on her thigh. The stitches had long since been removed but he was reminded of just how brave she was. In the face of everything she was burdened by, Marinette was always honest and thoughtful to others. He smiled gently. "Yeah, well, you've all been working so hard. You've earned it."

It was her turn to smile. "So have you. I hope you're enjoying yourself too."

He thought of dancing and drinking and loud music. "I am, in my own way. Partying isn't really my thing."

"It isn't my thing anymore, either. University made me a real party animal, but it was more just because I could than for actual enjoyment," she said. "One time, I drank so much that I passed out and woke up underneath the bar with orange peel in my bra. Not fun. Partying lost its thrill after _that_ walk of shame back to the dorms."

"That must've left you _peeling_ a little foolish." They laughed, though her expression was somewhat pained. He wasn't surprised. Puns had that effect on people.

She groaned. "At least you seem okay enough to pun, given the events of the evening."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the woman who danced with you. Grabbing you... that wasn't okay. It's happened to me before and it's not pleasant. Are you... okay?" Her expression was endearingly concerned. The crease between her brows had settled into place for the first time that evening. He let his hand rise, thumb smoothing the crease. Her brows rose and it disappeared. Adrien laughed good-naturedly.

"I'll be okay, Mari. It happens when I meet fans, too. You get used to it."

The crease returned. "You shouldn't have to."

"I promise I'm fine. Besides, I'm the Phantom. I'm practically irresistible!" he said, throwing on his brightest smile.

It was clear that she wasn't convinced but she let it go. Nino set a new song going. It was a familiar tune. In fact, it was from one of his favourite Halloween films: _Time Warp_. Marinette's worried expression immediately rose into one of delight. "I love this song! Care to dance with me, Phantom?" She offered her hand to him, an impish grin twisting her mouth pleasantly.

"You promise to keep your paws to yourself, petit minou?" he teased, flicking one of her ear tufts.

"It's the _Time Warp_. Hardly grope-worthy," she said with an exaggerated roll of the eyes. Her hand didn't waver. Although he'd silently sworn against dancing again that night, he found himself taking her hand. Marinette crowed with delight and drew him into the dance, where the crowd had hastily formed haphazard lines. They found a spot alongside Alya, who, after spending the last few songs dancing beside Nino in the booth, had rejoined the main group.

It was different that time around. Adrien felt much more himself, dancing among friends. Alya and Marinette really threw themselves into the dance, something which Alya later put down to ritualistic re-watching of _Rocky Horror_ every Halloween.

After that, he didn't leave the dance floor until Nino's set ended. It was a mix of Nino's original tracks and Halloween classics. Nino knew how the play the crowd, always knowing just what to mix to create the vibe that put everyone in a certain mood. Bass pulsed from the Funktion One sound-system, lulling them into an adrenaline-fuelled trance. The atmosphere in the club was erratic, alternating between pure electricity and slow haziness. The lighting and compact crowd ensured that it was always somewhat sexy.

At last, Nino's voice rang through the speakers. "Alright my dudes, it's been an awesome night but _man_ , do I want a drink. Goodnight, Concrete and Happy Halloween!" Then his voice was replaced by one of the most iconic songs ever. _I Put a Spell on You_ by Screamin' Jay Hawkins. Despite his exhaustion and breathlessness, he looked around for a partner. Annette had gone home half an hour beforehand to relieve the babysitter and Haruhi was cradled in the arms of Alya, who she had been quick to befriend. He approached them, jostled a little by the pulsing bodies.

"Where's Mari?"

Haruhi frowned. "What?" Her voice was sucked into the din, hardly audible.

He was forced to shout even louder. "Where's Marinette?"

"On the terrace! She said she needed some air!" replied Alya after Haruhi once again drew a blank. Mouthing his thanks, he made his way off the dance floor and headed up the stairs. As promised, Marinette was leaning on the railing of the terrace, staring out at Paris' nighttime horizon, drink in hand.

It was a welcome change to the belly of the club. The music was fainter and the lack of noise shocked his ears. Water whispered from below, lapping therapeutically against the hull of the barge. Fairy lights peppered the terrace like stars. From the railing, the sights of the city were lit up in the darkness, otherworldly outlines that seemed to draw him far away from Paris. This time of year he was usually somewhere like Spain or Greece, working away from the office in a private paradise where no one knew who he was. It seemed surreal to find that feeling in Paris, of all places. He'd always felt like it was the last place where he could feel free.

Leaning on the railing beside her, he sighed. "I can see why you came out here," said Adrien, still drinking in the scenery. He glanced at her. "Are you okay, Mari?"

Her expression was tired, though he supposed they all were. Although they'd all enjoyed themselves, it had been a long night. "It's been a while since I was at a club. It's all a bit overwhelming," she said finally.

"I know the feeling. I don't think I've been to a party since... I can't even remember. A long time ago."

She didn't reply but acknowledged his words with a gentle smile. They stood together in silence for a moment. The whispered sounds of the city soothed his growing headache. The terrace was a welcome place to take a breather.

The chorus of _I Put a Spell on You_ hummed from beneath their feet, low and crooning. The atmosphere on the terrace was intimate and warm, despite the cool breeze. Two couples - or hookups - were making out nearby. Embarrassed, Adrien turned his eyes back to the horizon. He could feel the warmth of Marinette's skin where their arms were pressed together. Goosebumps prickled his skin, from the chill or the minute warmth he wasn't sure.

 _Why did I come out here again?_ he mused. A dance, probably, or maybe just to find their missing party member. The mixture of cocktails made his head feel light. It was too difficult to focus on what he'd been thinking. It made his head spin. 'Never mix your drinks' was an underappreciated phrase of wisdom. He settled on the dance theory. "May I have this dance, mademoiselle?"

Marinette looked oddly surprised. She smiled ruefully."I... don't really want to go back in yet. It's nice out here."

"Who said anything about going back in?" he said, loftily quirking a brow. She giggled. The darkness of the sky cast blue shadows on her face. The black makeup that traced her eyes made them brighter. They caught the lights on the terrace, reflecting the specks like a starry sky on open water.

Resting her hands on his shoulders, she sighed. "How do you even dance to this song?"

"I'd normally suggest a tango but we're far too drunk for that." Laughter came again. It was as if a pleasant wind disturbed hanging bells, tinkling and light. His voice turned soft. "Slowly."

The faint voice of Screamin' Jay Hawkins (oh, the irony) twisted in the air around them. Her hands were a welcome weight. They grounded him to the terrace, preventing his mind from straying too far from where they stood. One eye shadowed by his mask, it was as if he was another person, dancing the night away with a pretty woman. Hands on her waist, they swayed to the music. Each movement was clumsy, infused with alcohol. Once or twice, she trod on his toes. He hardly noticed. He couldn't tear his gaze from her eyes. Then she rested her head on his chest and he didn't have to. Adrien was glad of it. Though his face was partly concealed by the mask, he'd rather not have her see his irrationally flushed face.

 _Seriously, what is wrong with me tonight?_ he thought.

The song ended. It hardly seemed like a moment had passed. Exhaling a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, Adrien cleared his throat and stepped away. "Well... I'd best head back down to the others."

The wind ruffled loose strands of her hair. "I'll be down in a few minutes."

He hesitated for a moment. Was she really okay? It wouldn't be the first time she'd bottled up her feelings. Though he supposed that was her business, either way. She'd have told him if she wanted to. He wasn't her diary. It would be wrong to push her about it. But he still worried. That's what friends did. In the end, he simply smiled and headed back into the club. The air was close and warm. It made him immediately miss the cool night air of the terrace.

Alya, Nino and Haruhi were drinking at the bar, talking and gesturing enthusiastically to each other. When she noticed him, Sato waved, summoning him. It took him a minute to weave through a crowd of drunken students. Sato immediately thrust a drink into his hand, one of the strange Halloween cocktail specials that were on offer that night. Whatever was in the class was luridly green with a darker syrup at the bottom. It wasn't off-putting but he preferred to pick his poison.

The group was in mid-conversation. "Am I the only one who missed the memo that we were all dressing in black?" said Haruhi with a delicate pout. It wasn't an unfair accusation. She was probably one among five people in the whole club who wasn't adorned entirely in black.

Alya sipped on something bright orange. "In my defence, I'm an angel."

"That you are," Nino said sweetly, batting his eyelashes. His girlfriend scoffed, though her blush implied that she didn't entirely disapprove of his sickeningly sappy compliments.

Wrinkling his nose, Adrien turned to Sato. "I wouldn't worry about it, Nino missed it too, apparently."

"No, I didn't!" protested Nino. "This was an independent style choice. I have an image to maintain."

"Nino, this is supposed to be a costume party! It's Halloween, for crying out loud!" cried Alya in exasperation.

"I'm more than aware, m'dear. I dressed up." Unconvinced, Alya looked her boyfriend up and down. Her expression was just judgemental enough to make him wither slightly under her critical gaze.

"Pray tell, what are you dressed up as?"

Without missing a beat, Nino waggled his eyebrows. "Your future husband."

There was almost a minute of silence, and Nino still wriggled his eyebrows. Alya's face had deadpanned from the second he'd said it. Adrien wasn't surprised. Finally, Alya asked, "Is that a proposal, Lahiffe?"

"For now, it's a promise."

"Good. That would've been a terrible proposal." Despite this, Alya still smiled, undoubtedly rather pleased. God, the two of them were sickeningly sweet together. They had been since they'd first got together at fourteen. They'd had rough patches and had broken up a few times as teens but they always found their way back to each other. It was nice that they had one another to rely upon.

Music and the allure of the atmosphere surrounded them. They chatted mindlessly for a while, eventually joined by Marinette, who had brightened up since their chat on the terrace. The dance floor seduced the women in their small group back to the dance floor. Alya abandoned her heels beneath Nino's stood before vanishing.

"How're you holding up, dude?" asked Nino innocuously. The lightness in his expression was clearly meant to show he had no intention of prying into Adrien's affairs. It was something that Adrien appreciated greatly about Nino.

"I'm great. Everything's going well, though the shareholders aren't too happy with my fixed residence." It was clear that Nino hadn't meant it in that way but made no attempt to push it. Instead, he sipped his drink and forced a crooked grin that seemed too big for his face.

"You sure you're alright? The lone male amongst a hoard of eager female designers?" Nino wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Adrien scoffed. If Nino was single and not so shy around people he liked, he had the potential to be the biggest player on the planet - or at the very least, a huge flirt. The man could charm the pants off a hormonal rhinoceros.

"Oh, I'll live. They're all supremely talented designers and I couldn't be prouder to have them," he said. "Except for Karen. Karen is terrifying and I have never looked her in the eye."

Just as he finished his sentence, in walked none other than Karen Beaumont, fashionably late as always. Wearing all black to match her characteristically thunderous expression, with her hair coiffed and heavy Gothic makeup applied like an eighties rocker, it was as if she'd been summoned like some kind of otherworldly demon. Everyone froze.

"Oh, hey-y-y Karen."

Karen nodded dutifully. He could practically feel imaginary sweat beads rolling down his temple. "Agreste." Oh _God_. She ordered a drink - a black one with funny coloured ice cubes (aesthetic was everything, after all) - before setting her handbag down at his feet and going to dance without another word.

Nino's was incredulous. He didn't even get a word out before Adrien nodded knowingly. "What a _woman_."

 

* * *

 

Inching the key into the lock, Marinette winced at every loud click as the latch caught. After the party finished an hour before, she'd slowly made her way home. At first, she'd considered transforming - Alya had been pondering the sudden absence of regular Ladybug patrols - but had decided against it. She was far too tipsy to be jumping off rooftops, superhero or not.

It was drawing up to three o'clock. Noises seemed so much louder in the dark. Usually, sneaking around at some ungodly hour of the morning would risk the peril of waking her parents. Luckily, they remained away. The only thing she risked then was letting the lock click too loudly and rattle her developing hangover.

Tikki peppered her with concern. It was endearing, but each indignant squeak disapproving of her alcohol consumption was like a searing rod to the head. Massaging her temples, Marinette slowly made her way upstairs to the bathroom, leaving Tikki to enjoy cookies in the kitchen. She figured it was the least she could do for the kwami considering how hectic the night had been.

The pressure of the shower massaged her aching muscles. The soreness and blisters from enduring a long night in heels were soothed by the hot water that pooled around her feet. The hissing water relieved her headache slightly. Working the ridiculous amount of product from her hair, her thoughts lingered on the events of the night. A warm feeling had filled her chest the entire time she'd been there.

The party had been a wonderful idea. Seeing Nino and Alya had been the icing on the cake. It had been so long since she'd seen them in person. She had offered to put them up in her house for the time they were in Paris, but as it turned out, they'd rented their own place in the city centre. Alya had enlightened her on the matter, stating that they were only in Paris for a few days at Adrien's invitation but once Nino's tour ended in November then they'd spend the remaining weeks in the city until Rose and Juleka's wedding in December. Nino had another short tour in the New Year, but then they'd permanently settle in Paris so Alya could work full-time and Nino could set up his own record label. It was a prospect that she found greatly relieving. It was selfish, but she was glad that they were, at last, returning home.

Turning off the water was bittersweet but at least the bathrobe was warm. Marinette added the process of taking painkillers to her nighttime routine before heading up to her room with a glass of water. Try as she might, her makeup for the evening hadn't come off no matter how arduously she'd scrubbed it. Her skin was raw and pink by the time she gave up. She didn't have the energy or patience to work on removing the faint ring of eyeliner beneath her eyes.

Plonking herself down in the chair on the balcony and sipping absently at the water, Marinette almost felt too wired to properly unwind. Despite how worn out the night had left her, she still longed to escape for a while. The rooftops of Paris were tempting. The towers of Notre Dame hadn't been visited by Ladybug since the chance meeting with Chat Noir. Paris hadn't seen hide nor hair of Ladybug since that night. _Too tipsy to go now though_ , she reminded herself sternly. Tikki also added a helpful reminder, as if reading her thoughts.

The breeze she'd welcomed back on the terrace of the club soon became cold. Her wet hair was practically frozen. As she was only wearing the bathrobe she'd donned after getting out of the shower, she was chilly anyway. Marinette sneezed. That didn't bode well. A hangover and the strong possibility of a cold? Not so great.

"I'd say bless you, but you're already blessed by my presence," said a deep voice from above her.

Fear bolted through her, tickling down her spine. With a loud shriek, she shot from her chair and whipped around, attempting to raise her fists to defend herself, only to fall unceremoniously on her bottom. _Too tipsy_ , she thought miserably. Clumsiness and alcohol did not mix.

The grinning face of Chat Noir peered down at her. What on earth was he doing up at that hour? Surely it was far too late (or early, take your pick) for him to be awake. Half of Paris was silent. The only hot-spots of noise and activity were the clubs that dotted the city but even they got quieter after midnight. Perhaps he'd also been to a Halloween party that night. Despite the fact it fell on an off-day like Tuesday that year, celebrating was still a huge event. No one was going to let the fact that most of them had work the next day put them off partying until the sun came up. However, she'd never really pegged Chat as the clubbing type.

It took her a moment to collect herself. After all, she _was_ on the floor. Her heartbeat was erratic. The longer he stared at her with that impish grin, the faster it seemed to get.

Mentally, she chewed him out about surprising her. It was as if he was trying to make a habit of it. It took her a minute - and Chat's smile disappearing into one of weirded-out concern - for her to realise she hadn't said anything aloud. She was, in fact, staring at him open-mouthed, apparently still in shock. "You okay, Marinette?" he asked slowly.

"What on _earth_ are you doing here?" she said finally. "It's three in the morning!"

His mask twisted. It took her a drunken moment to realise he was raising an eyebrow. "What are _you_ doing here? It's three in the morning for you too. You should be asleep, mademoiselle."

"Hey, I've been out all night. I'm waiting out my headache before I sleep. And if you assumed I'd be asleep, then why come here?"

For a second, his eyes widened like a deer in headlights. In the dark, it almost looked like he was blushing but judging from his slightly slurred speech, he'd been out drinking too. "Uh, this is just one of the places I pass by when I'm out." He cleared his throat. Glanced away. "I just saw you out of the corner of my eye. Yeah. That's why I'm here."

Her only reply was a delicate giggle.

Pouting, Chat huffed. "I can leave."

Marinette struggled to her feet, pinning the bottom of the bathrobe to her legs to prevent flashing poor Chat as she stood. She figured if that she was going to embarrass herself because she was tipsy then she should at least attempt to maintain some of her modesty.

"No, no, don't be daft. I could use the company." She tightened the belt that secured the robe. Why hadn't she put her pyjamas on? She blamed her drunkenness.

Chat climbed down from the roof above her. He attempted to sit on the railing but almost fell straight over the other side. He elected to sit on the floor, though she did offer him the deck chair. "Sorry," he muttered. "I've had far too much tequila tonight."

After running back down to the kitchen to get him a glass of water, they sat chatting for a while. Sipping water, they shared complaints about their building hangovers. In the end, they talked each other into a silly, borderline hysteric mood. They each giggled at inopportune moments. Her phone told her that it was drawing up to 4 a.m.

" _Paw_ -don me, made- _meow_ -selle, but you look _paw-_ sitively _paw-_ some tonight. Come here often?" Chat was sprawled on the floor at that point, on his back with his arms spread-eagle around him. His eyes had been closed for a while but now he'd opened them to stare at her out of the corner of his eye. They gleamed in the darkness like any cats would. It was mystifying.

The puns stirred a weird fluttery feeling in her chest. Marinette groaned. "Oh yeah, it's almost like I live here."

"Really? I've never seen you in these parts before." His tone was endearing.

"You've been here before!"

"Have I? Have I really?"

She kicked lamely at him with her foot. "Oh, shut it." But she laughed regardless. His company had put her in a better mood. Yawning, she scrubbed her eyes and teased a hand through her semi-dry hair (which was undoubtedly an embarrassing mess). "Anyway, what'd you dress as this Halloween?"

Chat smiled at her. He was beginning to look as tired as she was. "I don't need a costume. This is dressing up enough for tonight, right?"

Her voice dropped to a murmur. "Is that costume really you though?"

"It's as close as it gets," he replied softly. His smile had turned sad. He blinked and in an instant, his cheeriness was back. "What was yours?"

"Guess!"

"Hmm... Cruella De Vil? No, Poison Ivy. Snow White, maybe?" Each guess prompted a giggled 'No!" from her. He knew he was guessing wrong. Her ears felt warmer the more she laughed. "Well, what then?"

Her laugh weaselled its way into her voice. "Okay, okay! I'll tell you. I was a cat."

"No!"

"Yes! I was a cat and I looked awesome. I'll show you." She dug through her camera roll until she found one she liked as evidence of her costume. He scrutinised it for a while, nodding approvingly.

"Inspired by yours truly, I assume? What can I say, I'm just an inspiration to a-a-all." His cocky grin was infectious. Marinette couldn't help grinning right back at him. He slowly got to his feet, stretching haughtily in a way that was far too akin to that of an actual cat. "Right, well I best go home I guess. Can't overstay my welcome."

Resting her chin on her fist, she observed him. He'd definitely grown into his features since they were teens. It suited him. "You could never do that, minou."

"You'll get sick of me eventually, Mari," he winked cheekily. He climbed onto the railing. Her heart was in her throat. She was worried that he'd fall. The alcohol had begun to lose its effect but that didn't mean he wasn't still tipsy. It wouldn't take much for him to topple over. She did it often enough _without_ the influence of alcohol. Thankfully, he didn't. Chat regarded her over his shoulder. The soft amber glow of the streetlights below cast complimenting shadows on his face. She couldn't look away from his eyes. "For what it's worth, I think you looked really cute in your costume."

And with that, he leapt into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a fun filler chapter but ended up being 23 pages long. Whoops. It was also kinda rushed towards the end and I changed tenses a lot I think and all in all, could've been better but y'know? I'm sick of this chapter.
> 
> Anyway, prepare.
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	17. Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Loving Memory of Nana Pauline 
> 
> October 1936 - August 2017

The beep continued. It was a high whine. It told of ends, of flatness, of emotional destitution. It told of a final chapter. It hadn't been one he'd foreseen. 

He hadn't the energy to lift his head from his hands. The tie around his neck was a chokehold. He felt clammy. It was wrong. Where had it all gone wrong? 

Useless. He was entirely useless. 

The room smelled like old sweat. Something about the smell of sweat made him paranoid, as if he might be the cause of the odour. Now, such thoughts were far from his mind. All he could think of was the beep. It didn't stop. It cut through the white noise like a scythe. It was impervious even to the cups of his hands clamped steadfastly over his ears. 

Where had it all gone wrong?

 

* * *

 

"No. Absolutely not. Nope." Plagg was obstinate. The kwami was very strong-willed. It was one of his bittersweet characteristics. At times, the stubborn streak in him was a blessing; it helped him stop Adrien from doing foolish things or provide sturdy advice. On the other hand, it was also a curse; Plagg was impossible to reason with and even harder to boss around. 

That morning, it was a curse. They'd been bickering for almost an hour, neither one willing to compromise and both too stubborn to end the argument without seeing victory. Plagg, infuriatingly, hadn't even looked up from his Camembert in over twenty minutes of said argument. 

"I need answers, Plagg. I have to."

"Nope."

"Yes!"

"Nope."

Deciding that enough was enough, Adrien grabbed his coat, pulling it on with a taunting look at the kwami. Plagg regarded him with undisguised resentment at that moment. Adrien smiled. Silencing the kwami was a feat in itself. It made him feel rather smug in a way that tugged the corner of his lips into a provoking smile. "Then you can stay here."

Plagg didn't even hesitate. Puffing up indignantly, he cried, "You know I can't."

"Well, I can't wear my ring either way so... you don't have to come with me. You can wait here."

"Adrien!" The kwami was spitting resentfully. "Don't you _da-_!" 

His ring was shut in its black box before the kwami could finish his sentence. Securing it beneath his pillow, Adrien sighed. Guilt had settled in his conscience. It would be a barefaced lie to say he didn't feel slightly bad about shutting the kwami away. He knew Plagg was trying to think of what was best for him in his own irritating way. It was strange not to have him with him. There was always a sort of warm feeling in the air when Plagg was around that was only noticeable when he was gone. It was their bond, invisible but always lingering. Adrien felt alone without it. 

He also had to face the kwami's wrath later. That was not something that Adrien was looking forward to. 

Buttoning his coat, he walked down to the entrance hall where Nathalie was waiting for him. Over the years, she'd seemed to age in slow motion. Nothing had changed about her aside from slight crow's feet in the corner of her eyes and a tiredness in her expression. It was eerie. It made him trust her less, oddly enough. They'd been fairly close for a while after his mother disappeared but after the plot surrounding his father had unravelled, that relationship had quickly dissipated. 

"The car is waiting for you, sir," she said. He hated it, the way she called him 'sir'. It was unintentionally patronising coming from her and reminded him of the household dynamic during his teens. She'd called Gabriel 'sir', covering up his terrorism for him, then she'd hand Adrien his schedule for the day without so much as a word. And all the while Gabriel had been hunting his own son. The thought made gorge rise in his throat. 

He said "thank you" before heading outside, but there was no genuine appreciation or fondness in his voice. For a moment, revulsion seized him. He'd sounded so much like his father. It worried him how similar they seemed to get as the years passed. Adrien looked less and less like his mother. It made him miss her more. 

The Gorilla started the car as he climbed in. The stirring of the car soothed his nerves slightly. Was Plagg right? Was he being an absolute dullard? If the car hadn't started to move, Adrien thought he might've just climbed back out and returned to get Plagg with his tail tucked between his legs. But he knew he'd never forgive himself if he didn't go. 

Traffic was busy as usual. It did nothing to ease his anxieties. What a brilliant way to spend his day off.  He wondered what the others were doing. They were probably enjoying the last of the autumn sunshine. Annette would be at the park with Fabienne. Haruhi would be at a coffee shop with Karen. Marinette... well, he wasn't sure. Perhaps she'd be sipping tea on her balcony or spending time with Alya before she and Nino left for Chicago to finish his tour. The thoughts were a brilliant distraction. The prison happened upon him sooner than he realised that way. 

Maria, his father's nurse, had been warned of his arrival. This time, he hadn't been summoned. She seemed surprised, not that he was shocked. Until that morning, Adrien hadn't been sure he'd ever come back either. The way he'd acted the last time he'd graced the prison's halls and the way he'd stormed out, he'd been more than happy to leave it that way. He'd thought that if he put enough distance between himself and Gabriel again, it would be easier. But he couldn't ignore the diagnosis. He also couldn't ignore how wrong it felt to let his father die without even attempting to listen to why. 

The pallor of Maria's skin was pale and clammy. She looked much older than she had last time he'd visited. Perhaps he just hadn't paid much attention to her. However, he hadn't failed to notice her apparent fondness for Gabriel. His stomach sank. What did her pale countenance mean for his father?

She opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself with a frown before the words came. Resigning herself to simply open the door to Gabriel's cell, she gestured for him to go inside. He was not prepared for the sight that greeted him.

When he'd last visited, his father had been in bad shape. The image of Gabriel, so small and fragile, curled into the fetal position in the white expanse of a hospital-issue bed, had haunted his dreams. Gabriel had fallen far since that visit. 

His father was skeletal. What little had filled the hollows of his cheeks before was gone, leaving deep gouges where flesh should have been. The sallow sweatiness to his skin left him translucent under the fluorescent lights. Veins bulged across his forehead. The grey of his eyes was lifeless, swallowed by his jaundiced sclera and the purple bruises that surrounded them. But worst of all was his breath. It rattled and echoed through his chest like wind through a tunnel. It occasionally caught, causing Gabriel to cough and hack up mucus and phlegm. 

A heart monitor and a saline drip were set up beside his bed. Oxygen had also been set up, drizzling precious air through the cannula pressed into his nose. They hadn't been there before. The beep of the monitor was startling, the only sharp sound in a room of vacuity. Gabriel twitched with each beat. He wasn't sure if it was from the shock of the sound or simply the force of his heart disturbing his corpse-like body. 

Maria surfaced in his peripheral. "Gabriel," she said softly. Her voice was slightly hoarse. Had she been crying? "Gabriel, it's your son. It's Adrien."

Her introduction made him feel like he had to speak, to reaffirm that he was in fact there. The words, however, didn't leave him. The sight of his father had stunned him. His tongue had attained a great weight and it was impossible to speak. 

Moving closer, Maria checked the saline drip and readjusted Gabriel's pillows. It was disturbing to watch. Like a marionette with its strings cut, Gabriel was entirely limp, subjected only to the whims of others. A sinking feeling tugged at Adrien's chest. He began to doubt that he'd get the answers he desired. 

"Gabriel, did you hear me?" The nurse's voice was more insistent and slightly louder. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder as she leant down to him. "Monsieur?"

Gabriel remained unresponsive. His gaze was vacant, staring into nothingness. Whatever was left of him was absent. It was like he was already dead. 

Maria smoothed her hands down her uniform. Cleared her throat, once. Twice. "I'll leave you two alone." He didn't watch her leave. The cell door clicked shut. Imprisoned. 

Silently, he wished Plagg was there. The kwami knew how to reassure him, even if his methods were unorthodox. 

Adrien took a seat on the chair beside his father's bed. It too was hospital-issue. It was well-worn, upholstered with scratchy woven wool in a shade of dull purple. The fabric itched the backs of his knees and thighs. It wasn't meant for comfort, simply practicality. 

He cleared his throat. He realised that he hadn't actually thought about what he would say to Gabriel when he saw him. After their last meeting, despite his outburst being justified, he felt somewhat embarrassed to be back. It was like the first conversation with a parent or teacher after they'd scolded you. It was silly but Adrien felt like a child again, awaiting his father's scrutiny. Only now, there was nothing left of Gabriel Agreste beyond the empty shell left rotting in his hospital bed, clinging to life. 

"I'm not here for you." It wasn't the truth. It wasn't exactly a lie either. "I just need to know why. I need to know what it was that made you think your actions were justified. I've wasted years of my life trying to figure it out but... I can't fathom anything that makes a lick of sense. So tell me. _Why?_ "

The movement of Gabriel's eyes startled him. A jolt of fear prodded him. It was like the dead returning to life before his very eyes. But once Gabriel's gaze latched onto him, that was it. The man went still again. His eyes, blaring with intensity for one lingering moment, returned to little more than glass. 

Nothing. It was almost gutting. Adrien felt a decade's worth of bitterness and hurt and confusion slipping through his fingers. The answers that he felt entitled to would never be answered, not now, not ever. For a minute, anger flared. Gabriel had given up everything, even his own son, for _something_. Adrien refused to believe that his father was without motive. What little he had ever learned about his father's plans as Hawkmoth was abstract and vague at best. Nothing he knew was substantial enough for him to know the truth, but he continued to deny that his father didn't have a reason. Why had he thrown everything away? Why had he thrown _him_ away?

Staring at the cadaverous face of his father, he found himself in tears. He curled in on himself, burying his head in his hands as they fell, thick and fast. A twisting pain cramped his gut. He prayed to whoever was listening, pleading with them. _Let him live. Let him live. Take anything... take everything. Just let him live._ Despite everything, he wasn't strong enough to lose him. Not yet. Not until he knew. Not until he understood. Perhaps that was selfish. Adrien didn't care. 

"Why?" he asked again. His voice was thick. Even to himself he sounded pathetic and lost. It was as if he'd been thrown back in time, listening to his fifteen-year-old self as he wondered aloud at just what he'd done to make his father hate him so much. All along, he'd just been the remnants of a boy broken by the deeds of his father. A decade of his life wasted. On what? Why had he spent his life rebuilding what his father destroyed? Was it duty or pride or hurt? Running his father's company was not the life he imagined for himself, yet he was trapped in it. As he had as a teenager, he lived his life through the will of his father. And for what? 

His father whispered something. It was so quiet that Adrien thought he was hearing things. Maybe it had been the faint hiss of the cannula at work, or someone going past outside. But Gabriel repeated it, the word escaping in a single exhale of breath. Unmistakeable. A chill swept through him. 

" _Emilie_."

It had been years since he'd heard his mother's name aloud; it had been even longer since he'd heard his father say it. To hear it again shocked him. It became harder to breathe. _Emilie_. Was that his father's attempt at an answer or was it the mutterings of a severely ill man? Neither was comforting. It felt like a trick. A distraction. It made him angry and impatient and... well, sad. After all this time, his father still gave him no sensical answer but Adrien couldn't find it in himself to ask any more questions. He was running out of time and the thought of the imaginary clock ticking down made his chest constrict. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. After the final battle, panic attacks and nightmares had plagued him for over a year.

It was then that it truly sunk in. Gabriel Agreste - infamous former mogul, terrorist, and his father - was dying a long and painful death. And the worst part? The only thing that Adrien could think was that he _deserved_ it. He'd got what was coming to him. Finally, his father was suffering as he'd forced others to - as he'd forced _Adrien_ to. And that _appalled_ him. If all he could feel was bitterness and self-pity then he was no better than his own father. 

"What am I going to do?" he whispered to himself. He couldn't look at his father. He'd demonised him for too long. The thought of seeing a person in him now was unbearable. Gabriel Agreste, no matter what, didn't deserve the courtesy... right? 

"What am I going to do?" Twice, three times he repeated it, head in his hands, pressing on his closed eyelids until he saw stars. "I can't... How can you do this to me?" This was directed at Gabriel. It was meant to sound angry. God knows he was furious. He was furious and frustrated and so incredibly _lost_. But most of all, he was sad. He felt it weighing his head to his hands as if he'd never move again. It messed with his head, making it foggy. 

It was a small gasp that stirred him. Maybe Gabriel was trying to speak again. Lifting his head, Adrien's gaze found his father. His knuckles were white where they clenched into fists in his lap. Gabriel's eyes never left him, staring with exhaustion-drooped eyes. His breath caught in this throat. Tears trailed from his father's eyes. And for the first time, Adrien saw regret. He saw sorrow. 

Then his eyes slowly closed. 

"Gabriel?" Panic was in his voice as well as his heart now. "Gabriel?" he added, more and more urgently. What was happening? What-?

Then he heard it. The high, whining beep. Wrestling his eyes from his father's dull ones, his eyes found the monitor and felt the bottom drop off the world. The line, showing the leaps and jolts of a living heart, had gone flat. For an agonising moment, he waiting, pleading. _Let it move. Let it be wrong_. The line stayed flat. The shrill beep continued, piercing. 

At first, Adrien didn't cry. It had been a long time since he'd felt anything but contempt for his father. Longer still since he'd had a meaningful conversation with him. They'd never been close. But seeing the line go flat? To watch the life leave his father's body? Something rooted in Adrien's chest contracted, squeezing the breath from him. Adrien felt as if he'd been preparing himself for it, since long before he even knew Gabriel was dying. Shock didn't quite cover it, nor did grief. He felt awful for even thinking that. Villain or not, Gabriel Agreste was his father. He _should_ mourn his father. He _should_ have felt loss. But he didn't. Just a gaping emptiness and dread where he was supposed to feel those things. Somehow, that hurt more than anything else. _What kind of monster was he?_

The beep continued. It was a high whine. It told of ends, of flatness, of emotional destitution. It told of a final chapter. It hadn't been one he'd foreseen. 

He hadn't the energy to lift his head from his hands. The tie around his neck was a chokehold. He felt clammy. It was wrong. Where had it all gone wrong? 

Useless. He was entirely useless. 

The room smelled like old sweat. Something about the smell of sweat made him paranoid, as if he might be the cause of the odour. Now, such thoughts were far from his mind. All he could think of was the beep. It didn't stop. It cut through the white noise like a scythe. It was impervious even to the cups of his hands clamped steadfastly over his ears. 

Where had it all gone wrong?

Adrien felt himself getting number as the monitor continued to beep. He felt like he was drowning, floating underwater, sinking into the cold, emotionless depths, never again to feel the dry autumn air on his skin. He sat still on his chair with no strength to move anything other than the hands that ran shaky fingers through his hair. Adrien bit his lip, feeling the dread subside to admit grief. He didn't stir even as Maria Alvarez rushed in, distraught. 

"G-Gabriel, he's... he's dead," Maria's voice caught slightly. She refused to look at Gabriel's lifeless form. "I'm so sorry." 

For a second, he thought to offer her comfort. An apology, maybe. Instead, he stood up, strangely weightless as if he was detached from his limbs, and left. It was wrong, wrong, wrong but he couldn't stay. He couldn't. He couldn't watch as they unplugged everything or conveyed their commiserations or parcelled up what was left of his father like butcher's meat. 

Passing out through security was mindless. He was like a robot. Do as you're told. Obey. Move on. 

The city seemed loud. _Too loud_. God, why had he stayed? He should never have come back. Never. Maybe then he wouldn't have known - wouldn't have seen his father die. Why hadn't he listened to Plagg? 

Plagg. He needed to get Plagg. The kwami who was stuffed under his pillow, best intentions ignored and cast aside. God, he felt so _stupid_. So pigheaded. He deserved the kwami's wrath. 

The Gorilla was still waiting outside, the engine rumbling as if anticipating his brief stay. It was almost mocking. The Gorilla with his perpetually blank face... Adrien felt sick to his stomach. After slurring out his destination, he clamped his mouth shut in case he threw up. His skin was crawling. He felt the Gorilla's eyes on him. 

The drive seemed to take hours. Days. The sickness in his skin was rotting him away into nothing. The beep rang in his ears. He would never escape it. It was following him. Waiting. It was hard to know where to begin. The fresh memory of his father's lifeless eyes boring into him replayed on a loop in his head. Again and again and again. It was tormenting. 

The car drew up to the house. It hadn't even fully come to a stop before Adrien was out. He had to get out. Out, out, out. The foyer was empty. He didn't have to look at Nathalie's carefully emotionless face. No doubt she'd been called by then. He was glad she wasn't there. 

The stark whiteness of the house was oppressive and so, so cold. It wasn't a home. It never had been. It was a mausoleum. It held the long-dead memories of his mother. It held the loneliness of his childhood. It held Hawkmoth's lair, built into the very brick. And now it held the guts of his father. Fresh and foul, spilling out across the white marble and staining it. If he breathed deep enough he was sure he could almost smell it, taste it on the air. But he couldn't breathe. He was being strangled. 

His room was contaminated. Lavishly decorated and crammed with everything a boy could want, it was superficial and isolating and hardly a room at all. It was a cage, prettied up to keep the canary entertained enough to not question the fact its bars were wrapped in flowers. 

Plagg. Under the pillow, the black box waited. It promised the warmth in the air around him again. Perhaps then he wouldn't feel... anything. Anything at all. 

The ring was cold against his skin. The kwami materialised, spitting curses. He stopped short when he saw Adrien's face. "Oh, kid-"

And suddenly the grief that he'd been suppressing couldn't be held back. It surged with every expelled breath, sucking the air from him. Tears tugged from his eyes, draining him until his chest ached. He couldn't _breathe_. Blood filled his mouth. His lips were torn from biting them. All pretence of numbness was lost. He felt so heavy. He didn't notice that his knees had given out until he hit the floor. The pain came in waves, minutes of sobbing broken apart by short, breathless pauses, before hurling him back into the clawing limbs of grief. His hands clutched the sides of his head, his hair, his face. The pressure grounded him, only a small comfort. 

The sickness that plagued him rose in his throat and he forced himself up off the floor, running to the en-suite. Retching into the toilet, tongue tasting of bile and blood, the tears still came. Slumped over the bowl, his nose ran and saliva dripped from his mouth as he continued to retch. The sickness was in his soul now. And still, he cried. He cried so much it hurt. It _hurt_. 

He couldn't stay in that house. He couldn't. 

_He couldn't._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter sucked to write. It's based on my personal experience with this illness, hence the dedication to my Nana. 
> 
> This was originally going to have more in the chapter but I felt this was a good place to end. I'll just split it in two. Unfortunately, what I did write for the second part was lost when I copied and paste it from my editor to this because I copied the other stuff, forgot to save it in another chapter document, then copied all this. THEN by browser crashed so I couldn't undo it to get back to my old stuff. Brilliant. Hopefully, I can rewrite it from memory.
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	18. Solace

A carton of chocolate coconut milk and constant bolstering from Tikki allowed for immense productivity on a Sunday. It was technically her day off. As it turns out, 'days off' don't exactly exist when working on a high-risk, time-sensitive project.

Homework - something she'd hoped to be rid of once finishing her degree - was mounted on the table. It demanded completion before work the following day. Now that they'd received tentative approval from the board, it was full steam ahead with the project. They'd each been assigned specific types of work to best suit their strengths.

For example, Karen was harassing the textiles industry to find a supplier from the list Annette compiled, bartering the best price and finding a factory to produce the items that were for general sale in _Gabriel_ retailers. Annette was personally overseeing the patterning for each product, tweaking designs where necessary, and developing the centrepiece for the project, based on the Mona Lisa, which had to be "absolutely perfect, otherwise, everything else is pointless". Haruhi was managing finances and the general upkeep of both the project and the studio, organising strict schedules, delivery dates and so on because Adrien viewed her as the best in the company for managing new projects. Marinette had been assigned to producing the marketing after Annette had dug up the work she did for Jagged Stone as a teenager. While she had yet to design anything fashion-related since her life fell apart at the seams, concepts and designs for adverts she could definitely do. Adrien, as the CEO of the brand, had been left with the paperwork from their exploits, overseeing anything and everything regarding the project and offering his professional input, as well as handling all the legal aspects, such as patents. 

It was very taxing, all in all, but it wasn't so bad. It was a little tedious making so many adverts, especially when there were no photos of the final products to actually put on the advertisements. The lack of colour and aesthetic to directly refer to caused a lot of problems so eventually she'd given up and had simply used what she knew about each product to cater to the design then produced several colour and style versions for each. Stock photos were a great help, allowing her to create silhouettes where the models wearing each product would stand and how they'd pose. For each file of adverts for a product, there was a minimum of three pages of notes regarding the desired expression of the models, use of complementary, gentle colours and the need to cater to a wide variety of customers regardless of their ethnicity, gender or body type. 

For the moment, she was focusing on the designs for the runway and orchestrating the final fashion show on Fashion Week, which was the biggest job she'd been given. Working alongside Haruhi for financing and planning it, she had to orchestrate a stunning set that complemented the entire collection. It didn't sound like much. On paper and in planning, however, it was a strenuous task. It required venue references, colour swatches, light tests, a guest manifesto, a music playlist - which she was texting Nino about - as well as organising catering, staff and insurance. And that was just what she remembered off the top of her head. Why she'd been given the task was beyond her - surely Karen or Adrien had more experience in the matter - so she could only thank Haruhi for sticking it out with her. Once Marinette organised a plan, it was up to Haruhi to sort through the ideas and see what they could actually accomplish on their budget. 

Stretching the knots from her neck and back, she huffed. Chocolate milk could only carry her so far.

Alya had made a habit of visiting most days once Marinette had finished work but that day she was visiting her family before Nino took her out for dinner. It had been great to spend so much time with her best friend again, especially after not seeing her in person for so many months. So Alya's absence, while beneficial to her productivity, made her miss her. She knew it was ridiculous. They'd spent so much time together since she arrived back in Paris. Earlier on in the week, she, Nino, Alya and Adrien had even gone out for a meal together to catch up. Still, it was strange to not have anyone in the house other than herself and Tikki. The kwami was grateful to not have to hide all the time but even she had commented on how weird it felt. 

Sparing a glance at the clock, she decided to pack up her work for the day. It was coming up to tea-time and she was starving. Judging from Tikki's forlorn glances at the biscuit barrel, the kwami was too. The frozen meals prepared by Sabine before her parents' departure had run out, so Marinette was left to cook. 

The fridge was particularly scant of food. It was something Sabine would still refer to as 'there's food at home!' but as far as she was concerned a pint of milk, a carton of chocolate coconut milk, margarine, eggs and a pumpkin (which she _totally_ hadn't forgotten to decorate for Halloween) didn't equate a meal. Unless...

"Pie?" she asked Tikki while staring into the depressing emptiness of the fridge. 

Tikki nodded grimly. She patted the pumpkin as if pitying it. "Pie."

So pie it was. _Domestic goddess, who?_ she thought with a snigger. While Tikki routed through the cupboard for spices, Marinette set about making pastry. Pumpkin pie was her favourite but the pastry had to be just right - the crumbly shortcrust needed to taste a little sweet. It also required a lot of temperature changes which she sometimes forgot about, resulting in several overdone pies over the years. 

It was pretty routine. Seasonal fruits and vegetables were a favourite in their house and her Papa always liked them in his baking. Pumpkin, in particular, was a favourite. When she was a kid, they'd eat it every Halloween and make sure to have several on sale in the bakery. It wasn't as gourmet as some of their other goods but it always went down a treat. 

The smell of cooking pumpkin and pastry filled the kitchen. Once the finished pie went in for the last bout of baking, nutmeg and cinnamon soon joined the mix. She was almost glad she'd run out of freezer food. Tikki was just thankful that she wasn't eating five-bean chilli for the fifth night running. 

Just as the TV had been turned to mindless reruns and they were both sitting down to their pie, the doorbell buzzed. The side door was rarely used, especially by guests, but since the bakery was closed it had become the best way to get in. She and Tikki shared a look of confusion. It _definitely_ wasn't Alya and no one else had called in advance to warn her that their arrival was pending. A feeling of nervousness made it difficult to swallow. When she was home alone, it was easier to feel scared. She was Ladybug but she couldn't exactly transform just to peek at who was at the door just as it was starting to get dark. For a dull moment, she thought it might be Chat Noir. She dismissed the thought. He'd just use the window. 

Setting her pie on the coffee table, she urged Tikki to hide - she shut herself in the fridge with her pie - and trudged downstairs, a rolling pin in hand. Silently, she prayed it wasn't an axe-murderer or cold-caller because that would mean she'd left her pie for no good reason. Gah, even the downstairs smelt of pie. 

Taking a breath, she steeled her nerves, readied her rolling pin and opened the door a crack. 

And what did she find? Adrien Agreste. A man who _never_ turned up without invitation. 

At first, she was surprised. She would've made a joke, but then she saw his face. Worn and tired with creases and dark, bruising bags imprisoning his empty eyes. His hair mussed and unusually unkempt, suit rumpled and slightly dirty. But what was worst was that his expression, normally bright and friendly, was as blank and pale as paper. Any quips died before they left her tongue. 

He didn't even clear his throat. His voice was scratchy. "Can I... stay?"

 

* * *

 

He didn't tell her what was wrong. She knew better than to ask.

After letting him in, they'd made their way upstairs. Adrien hadn't said anything since he'd asked to stay. Considering the state he was in, Marinette hadn't even hesitated to let him stay. She didn't even care how long he needed to stay. Everything about him screamed wrong. 

Taking a glance at his clothes and knowing what a comfort a warm shower was after a long day, she'd insisted that he take a shower. Without so much as a glance in her direction, he'd complied. His face was so empty. It robbed her of her words.

She'd turned the water on for him - their shower was an old, complicated thing - Marinette had turned to hand him a clean towel. Adrien had paused in the doorway. She'd found herself staring at him, at his stance and the way his head turned to look at his hand on the lintel and the chipping paint beneath his fingertips. His expression had been distant, as if he was suddenly very far away. In his mind, he wasn't in Paris. She could tell, just from the emptiness in his face. And at that moment, it had been like looking at a stranger. He was unrecognisable. 

Marinette recognised so much of herself in him when he looked like that. He'd completely closed himself off, bottling everything up, in order to protect himself and others. It was what she'd done for a long time after Nathaniel left. It had been too hard to face her own pain so she'd locked it away and completely shut down. Only now, she was seeing it from an outsider's perspective. Now she understood her parents, the way they looked at her. It was so obvious, this pain. It was impossible to hide. And she knew now that watching someone you cared about suffer was unbearable. 

Heartbeat heavy in her throat, Marinette swallowed thickly. Her heart felt strange and fluttery and painful. 

It had been at least twenty-five minutes since he'd got into the shower. The water still ran, the hissing filling her ears. The sound pulled her from her thoughts and back to reality. That reality was that a bundle of Adrien's dirty clothes were outside the bathroom door and her friend was hurting. 

Adrien had turned up with nothing but the clothes on his back and the contents of his pockets. Considering the filthy state of his suit - God only knows what he'd done to it - she could hardly tell him to put it back on after he got out of the shower. Her mother would've killed her for even thinking of being so rude to a guest. While he showered, she put his clothes into the washing machine and set it going. They'd smelt faintly of vomit and something akin to antiseptic. She just hoped the suit wouldn't be ruined either by the smell or the wash.

The only problem was that he hadn't brought anything to change into and none of her Papa's clothes would fit him. Tom Dupain was a stupendously large man. Adrien was certainly leaner in stature. Searching her room was no easy task, considering how much fabric she had in there. She figured that that was the best place to look for spare clothes. Surely she'd dig up something. Vaguely, she remembered she had a set of flannel pyjamas that had been a gift but were at least three sizes too big. After rummaging through her drawers, she found something more appropriate. 

They were old pyjamas of Nath's. Considering how long they'd been together, he'd spent a few Christmases at the bakery and had probably forgotten the pyjamas at some point. It was strange that she'd missed them. When she'd returned from Cannes, she'd meticulously combed through her possessions, purging herself of anything that belonged to him. They'd been unbearable to keep around or look at. Yet despite the depth of her scouring, she had missed them. Fortune - or lack thereof - could be favourable, it seemed. 

The only thing that made her feel slightly better about it was the fact that she'd made them herself. They weren't entirely his. It wasn't her finest work, either. They'd been a quick product, something for him to wear the year that he forgot to pack pyjamas for his visit. It was a red t-shirt with grey plaid-weave bottoms, all redone in brushed cotton fabrics to make them comfier but the stitching was haphazard in places. It was obvious that they were lovingly made though clearly never worn more than twice.

She remembered that Christmas well. It had been three years before, just after their anniversary. For hours, they'd curled up in bed together against the chill of the winter night, legs entangled, her head pressed against his chest. His heartbeat had fluttered beneath her ear. He'd kissed the top of her head and told her he loved her, as he often did. Looking back, she was surprised that it didn't hurt to remember those intimate moments. Instead, she regarded it with an indifference, like it had happened to someone else. The indifference made her feel queasy. Had she really abandoned their love so easily?

Lightly tapping on the bathroom door, she left the pyjamas by the door for him before making her way back up to the kitchen.

The living room seemed vacuous now. Shadows lingered in corners. Puffing out her cheeks, she ran her hands through her hair and clasped them at the back of her neck. The feeling of wrongness just wouldn't leave her. More than anything she wanted to talk to Tikki and ask her for advice but the kwami was shut up in the cupboard eating pie. 

Absently, she began to wonder after Chat Noir. They hadn't seen each other since the evening of Halloween. Before that, he'd be a relatively frequent visitor to the bakery but he hadn't stopped by in over a week. She missed his company and Adrien, despite being the new house guest, was understandably less than chatty. She felt that Chat, being a man of a similar age to Adrien, could offer some advice. All she could do by herself was remind Adrien that she was there for him when he needed her. Was it enough?

The sound of the shower turning off drew Marinette from her thoughts. Figuring that she had a few minutes until he'd come out, she busied herself with boiling milk in a saucepan. Tikki popped her head out of the cabinet, crumbs covering her cheeks, and opened her mouth to speak. Before she had the chance, the bathroom door clicked open downstairs and the sound of feet softly padding up the stairs had the kwami quickly vanishing into the cabinet again. 

The living room door squeaked slightly as it opened. She'd been meaning to oil them at some point while her parents were away but hadn't quite gotten around to it. 

Adrien's hair was wet. Water droplets careened through the tangles in his hair, the water-spiked ends tickling his nape. His face was tinged pink from... embarrassment? The warmth of the shower? Crying? His eyes were slightly puffy but none were out of the question. 

The pyjamas were a little snug, though that was unsurprising. Nathaniel had always been rather lithe. They'd been a little too big on him. Adrien, it seemed, was more well-built and the opposite had happened. She must have made them an awkward size. The fabric was a little too tight under the arms and around the chest but he didn't seem to mind. The pants were also a few inches too short, barely brushing his ankle. 

It suddenly occurred to her that since their reunion in the bakery she hadn't seen him out of a suit even once. Every day, Adrien wore a suit of some description - usually black or grey or even dark blue on occasion - and black brogues. A silver watch always adorned one wrist while his silver ring occupied a finger on his right hand as it had done since they were at school together. Uniform and well-dressed, as one would expect from a CEO of an international fashion empire. She supposed that it was all about keeping up appearances. They couldn't have the CEO misrepresenting the company. She couldn't even recall seeing him in any newspapers or shocking tabloids. Yes, Adrien's image was certainly one of professionalism. 

Seeing him without the glamour of professional perfection was very jarring. It warmed her heart a little bit though she wasn't too sure why. She _did_ begin to wonder how on earth he'd made it to twenty-five and stayed single. He was rather adorable in pyjamas. 

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. It took her a moment to realise she was staring and that doing so was making him uncomfortable. With a hurried smile, she turned back to tend to the milk. It was a good way to stall. She wasn't quite sure what to say to him. It wasn't like she could pretend everything was normal and she wasn't about to broach the subject of his melancholy unless he did so first. Adding malt to the milk, she decided against saying anything at all. There was nothing to be said. 

Behind her, the sofa gave a soft _swoosh_ as it accommodated Adrien's weight. A stifled sigh came shortly after. She was certain that he hadn't intended for her to hear. 

She poured the milk into mugs before turning to face him. Curled into the corner of the sofa, Adrien was a pitiful sight. His chin was tucked down into his chest, cheek pressed against the sofa back. His eyes were closed. The bags beneath them looked purple. 

Wordlessly, she nudged him to get his attention before handed him a mug of Horlicks and plonked herself down on the end of the sofa. When she was little, her Maman gave her Horlicks before bed to help her sleep. It always calmed her. Perhaps it would offer him the same comfort.

His hands clasped the mug tightly, thumbs sticking out boyishly, large knuckles turning bone white as his fingertips pressed against the surface of the mug. His grip was his anchor. Security from the world in the form of a small mug.

"I could use a beer." It was the first thing he'd said since he'd asked to stay. His voice was so quiet and cracked. It made her chest ache. 

Thinking back to all her drunken nights alone on the balcony or her room, Marinette sighed. Adrien's face was so desperate and tired. In his state, she'd want to drink her troubles away too. "Just drink that," she replied softly. "Trust me, alcohol is the last thing you need."

He didn't attempt to argue further. He didn't even meet her eyes. Nothing about him seemed the same. It was a side to him that was completely new and vulnerable. 

"Sorry for just... barging in on you, Mari," he said. Sipping on his drink, he finally looked at her. His eyes, beautifully green and usually so happy, were bloodshot. She couldn't look away. 

Shrugging, she replied, "S'okay. I was just planning on eating pie and watching trash TV anyway." 

He nodded numbly. "Good pie?"

"The _best_. Pumpkin. You want a slice?" When he nodded, she handed him her slice - which still sat on the coffee table - and fetched herself another slice from the fridge. They ate in silence. The TV was still only playing reruns but neither of them particularly cared. Adrien was sucking on his spoon idly, empty plate forgotten. From the glaze in his eyes, he wasn't paying attention. It was the look of someone lost in thought. 

What Marinette found strangest was that she didn't feel like he was even a guest. Normally, when someone visits her nerves make her eager to be the perfect hostess or she can't relax due to the non-familial person in the house. With him, there was none of that. It was like he belonged there. He didn't look out of place, curled cross-legged in the corner spot of the sofa, plate resting in his lap. Elbows resting on his knees, hands clutching the spoon, he had an endearing quality that made him almost... family.

Marinette drew her eyes back to the TV. It was probably because she missed her parents. They still wouldn't be back for another few weeks and the house was quiet without them. The absence of clattering from the bakery made it a hollow place. It just wasn't the same without them. She also knew that her parents would know how to best help Adrien. Her Maman would go all maternal and her Papa would be her Papa, jolly and comforting as always. It was almost like without their presence she was a rudderless ship. 

Her spiralling thoughts were brought to an end by the sound of a muffled cough from beside her. Adrien was shaking. At least, she _assumed_ he was. In the gloom - the lamp did little to light the living room - his shoulders were trembling. Veins lined the back of his hands and his forearms where tension constricted them. His drying hair had fallen to obscure his face. The spoon had found the plate in his lap. 

Frowning, she reached a hand to gently touch his shoulder and said, "Adrien?"

When she made contact with his shoulder he jumped as if he'd been electrocuted, limbs jerking out. The plate was thrown from his lap and shattered, spraying shards of china across the floor. Leaping back in alarm, she was glad for her Ladybug reflexes. Adrien suddenly drew all of his limbs towards him, tucking himself into a ball. He didn't look like a grown man. He looked so small and frightened. The sound of his breathing, erratic and fluttery, caused her to frown. A strange feeling - worry? sorrow? - settled in her chest. _This is so unlike him_. 

The wide, roundness of his panicked eyes found her. His pupils were dilated, swallowing the green. His eyes were shiny, unfocused. "I'm sorry," he whispered, voice gritty. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm-" He repeated it like a chant. 

Standing up, Marinette turned off the TV and crouched to pick up the broken pieces. Dropping them on the coffee table so they couldn't be stepped on, she squatted in front of him and fixed her eyes to his. "Adrien," she said softly. When he didn't acknowledge that, she tried again. "Adrien."

His gaze focused a little and he blinked. Once. Twice. He was still hyperventilating. His hands clenched repetitively. 

"Adrien, I'm here for you. Just breathe with me, okay?" Inhaling deeply through her nose, she held her breath until he copied her then exhaled slowly through her mouth. Repeating the process several times, she watched as he began to relax. The tension began to release from his shoulders and his pupils returned to normal. His hands stopped clenching and found hers, squeezing them gently. She only stopped the process once he was completely calm. 

Silently, she waited for him. He blinked a few times as if clearing away a haze before he glanced away. "I... Sorry. The plate, I-"

"Don't worry about it," she replied reassuringly, squeezing his hands. "Are you okay?"

His cheeks were red. "I-" Adrien stopped. His eyes grew shiny again, though this time with tears. They collected quickly around the rim of his eyes and rolled in fat drops down his cheeks. He bit his lip and tucked his head down, retreating into himself. 

Her heart broke a little then. Reaching up, she hugged him, one hand cradling the back of his head. Warm tears dripped onto her collar bones and into the fabric of her shirt. His hands clutched around her back and tangled in the fabric, pulling her closer. With his face pressed into her shoulder, he cried. 

Marinette felt her eyes prickle and clenched them closed. No. She couldn't cry too. That wasn't fair. He needed her and she couldn't be a mess. Pressing a kiss to his hair, she muttered, "I know. I know, but I've got you. It'll be okay. I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... sorry?
> 
> Also, I feel like I should clarify that Adrien didn't go straight to Marinette's place. He'd been wandering for hours at that point. 
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


	19. Building Bridges

Two weeks passed. In that time, Annette had been driving the team like mules. It had been pretty much none stop work for the past fortnight and almost every day at the office only ended after three hours of overtime. That being said, none of them minded it too much. The days were filled with friendly chatter and laughs. They had all become close friends, even with Karen. Fabienne, Annette's daughter, still occupied a place in the Break Room and made the dull hours more bearable with her mindless toddler babbling. The time passed quicker then. The workload didn't seem as overwhelming when your mind was allowed minor distraction. 

The only drawback was the mood pouring off Adrien. While he hadn't outwardly said anything to them, he'd been borderline mute since he began staying at her house. He could be in the office for hours and not utter a word. Mouth tight-lipped and eyes firmly fixed on a page or screen, all he'd do was work. It was like his job was his life-blood. He was hollow and not himself. 

Everyone could tell something was wrong. Annette had pulled Marinette aside a few days into the first week, concerned about his wellbeing. But what could she say? She knew just about as much as they did and was twice as worried. Since he'd started living at her place, he'd shut himself off. Since the first night, he hadn't cried or had another panic attack (that she'd witnessed, anyway). In fact, it was like he was hardly there. They came home together after work every day, they'd do work at the table, eat and then he'd curl up and sleep. It was robotic. 

After a week of this, Marinette's concern had amplified enough that she'd deemed a phone call to Alya necessarily. The ideal person to talk to would've been Nino but, as he was back on tour, he was stupendously busy.

"Have you asked Nino if he knows anything?" she'd asked, rubbing her forehead. She'd had a headache, the ones caused by frowning too much that make the muscles around your temple contract. 

Alya had sighed. "Yeah, but if Adrien's mentioned anything then Nino's being tight-lipped about it. I... don't know what to suggest, girl."

"I just feel a little useless. I mean, I don't want to push him about it but he can't keep going like this. It's like watching a mannequin move, Alya. It's _scary_."

"You've just got to carry on with what you're doing. As long as you're there for him and he knows that, there's not much else you can do. Agreste has always played his cards close to his chest, Mari. That won't change overnight. If he wants us to know then he'll tell us in his own time."

Chewing on her nails, she frowned. "I know, but-"

"But nothing, Mari. Trust me. You can't do anything more than what you already are doing. You're not a psychic so don't beat yourself up about this," Alya said reassuringly. "Besides, we'll be back soon anyway. Maybe we can help when we get back. I know Nino's dying to hang out with his best friend."

The conversation had tapered off after that. If there was one thing she could always rely on from Alya, it was her advice. After her stint as an advice columnist a few years before, Alya always seemed to have a logical, confidence-boosting response to anyone's problems. That's why Marinette wished she was still in Paris. 

The Saturday evening of the second week rolled around. Annette had bustled the team out of the door once they'd decided they'd had enough for the day, eager to lock up and get an irritable Fabienne home so the poor thing could sleep in her crib. It was fairly late - about nine o'clock - and both were encumbered by a few files that needed doing before Monday. Adrien had insisted on carrying hers for her and she was too surprised by the fact he'd strung more than three coherent words together to protest.

As it was getting on towards mid-November, the air was nippy and she was thankful for her scarf. She remarked on this to Adrien, who smiled shortly before tucking his chin down into his coat collar. Considering this progress (he smiled, at least), Marinette allowed silence to consume the rest of the journey. It wasn't awkward, simply companionable. She could hardly complain. She'd found herself spending more time with him either way. It was inevitable really, considering he was sleeping on her chaise or sofa for his foreseeable future in Paris _and_ they worked together. She found that being around him made her troubles less overbearing. They could relate to each other without needing an explanation. Neither pried into the other's business but seemed to offer each other a crutch without needing to be asked. She had space to breathe. So did he. That was the only consolation for his distant behaviour. She missed his smile.

Sat around the table together later that evening, they worked on their documents. Paper was arranged around them in chaotically organised stacks, half of the work completed. A bowl of crunchy M&Ms and two mugs of cinnamon hot chocolate sat between them. Adrien - she still couldn't get over him in casual clothes - was slouched in his pyjamas, drumming his fingers on his cheeks as he thought. Marinette was sat cross-legged on the stool in a jumper that swallowed her whole, a pencil clamped between her lips as she typed. That was how they spent most evenings. She was grateful for the company, though she had begun to wonder after Chat. He hadn't visited in weeks and there had been no sightings of him around Paris. She'd thought about going out on patrol - she hadn't in a while. Then again, he had said that he wouldn't be in the city for long. Maybe he'd already gone. It wouldn't be the first time that he hadn't said goodbye. 

Neatly arranging what was left of her work into a pile, she excused herself and headed for a shower. Adrien hardly looked up from his work, only offering a feeble smile of acknowledgement before his eyes dropped to his laptop. She hadn't planned on a shower that evening but she also couldn't let herself be drawn into sadness, especially not around Adrien. Chat was gone. He'd even told her that he hadn't planned to stay. Surely, she didn't have any reason to be so... _crestfallen_ about it. 

Under the gentle stream of warm water, Marinette tried to scrub away the feeling. Melancholy had tainted the house since Adrien arrived - not that she blamed him for it - and it left a strangely empty feeling in her chest. The more she scrubbed, the better she felt. It was a placebo, really. She knew that once she saw Adrien's absent expression or once again dwelt on Chat's growing absence, she'd be back to square one. For the moment, she simply focused on washing away her emotional exhaustion and pushed everything else away. 

Once she was done and had wrapped herself in a towel, she'd just begun to exfoliate her face when Tikki phased through the wall. Marinette barely managed to muffle a scream. Stumbling, she almost lost her footing before Tikki desperately reached for her, allowing her to correct herself. 

The kwami had been forced to make herself scarce in the past two weeks. A floating mini-God with a sweet tooth would raise questions that Marinette wasn't prepared to answer.

"Tikki!" she whisper-yelled, hand pressed over her erratic heart. Although she'd missed the kwami, that didn't mean she appreciated being jump-scared while scrubbing the blackheads on her nose. "You scared me."

Tikki giggled impishly. "I'm sorry, Marinette. I just heard the water turn off and thought that now would be a good time to talk with you."

Turning back to the mirror, Marinette washed off the exfoliator and dried her face. "I hate not being able to talk with you, Tikki," she said, dabbing moisturiser across her cheeks. "It's really unfair for you to have to hide in your own home."

"It's okay, Marinette. You're being a good friend and I really don't mind. It's not like I've been completely alone because Adrien arrived," replied Tikki with a secretive sort of smile, "but that's not why I came."

Frowning, Marinette gesticulated for the kwami to continue.

"Can you get some Camembert? For the fridge? We've run out. I need more cookies too."

 _Camembert? Tikki hates cheese_ , she thought in confusion. Raising a brow, she said, "Of course. I didn't think you liked savoury things."

Tikki smiled sheepishly. "I don't. I'm just... trying new things?" Her voice pitched at the end and Marinette's confusion grew. The kwami was lying and she _never_ lied. But she trusted Tikki, probably more than anyone in the world. If she was lying then it was for good reason. Right?

"Okay. I'll pick some up tomorrow." The kwami gave a soft sigh as if relieved. "Anything else?"

"Oh, right. You should probably head back upstairs now. It's Adrien. He's... acting strange," said the kwami, her voice somewhat uncertain. Marinette felt her blood run cold. Hurriedly pulling on her pyjamas - Tikki was kind enough to leave the bathroom for that - she tugged open the bathroom door, steam spilling out into the hallway, and sprinted upstairs. All the while, infinite possibilities reeled in her mind. Panic became her enemy in those moments, drawing out the worst possible outcomes.

Practically falling through the living room door, breathing ragged, she forced the door open so hard it recoiled off the wall with an enormous bang. From his position on the sofa, Adrien squawked in fright and fell to the floor, clutching his chest. "Mari!"

"Adrien!" The two regarded each other, eyes wide with alarm, breath escaping in ragged huffs. Marinette felt increasingly confused. He looked... fine. Perhaps better than he had in a while. His face didn't look outwardly desolate and his eyes were brighter, if a little shocked by her sudden arrival. 

She let her gaze drift. The TV was on. It wasn't the evening news but was, in fact, _Ultimate Mecha Strike III_. Curse Tikki and all her vague phrasing. 'Acting strange'. Pfft. At best he was... he was...

"You're not working," she said bluntly, voice lilted with surprise. Her brows inclined as she looked at him again. Adrien had hardly given himself time to breathe since his arrival. For him to be sat, playing a video game and - judging from the bowl on the coffee table - finishing off the last of the M&Ms, was indeed strange. When Tikki had said strange, she'd immediately jumped to the conclusion that he was having another panic attack or had gone into a sort of dissociative state as he had a few times. The last thing she'd assumed was that strange could be a good thing.  

Adrien looked nervous. "No? I... it's getting late and I figured that, after such a long week, you might want to play."

For a moment, she wasn't sure what to say. It was like her brain had crashed and needed to reboot. If she were a teenager, she'd have been beet-red and internally screaming over the sweetness of his offer but she was almost six years out of her teens and liked to think she'd matured in that time. 

Her heart swelled with a feeling of warmth. She allowed that much. He'd made an effort to draw himself from his isolation and she was _proud_ of him for it. It was difficult to remove yourself from darker places, even if it was only for a short while. Practically beaming, she replied softly, "Of course I'll play."

Picking out their characters - Adrien was NAD03 and Marinette, as always, was LB-03 - they settled into the game. At first, they played almost coyly. Neither was particularly competitive. They were simply happy to be distracted from work and spending some time with a friend. What little was left in the M&Ms bowl quickly disappeared. When Adrien stuck his tongue out at her to mark one of his victories, it had been stained purple from the pigment of the sweets. After a series of consecutive defeats, he'd started to pout. In a show of solidarity, Marinette also made her character lose pitifully. She couldn't have handled his rather cute pouty face any longer.

As the games went by, they lost their calm and friendly approach. Now, Marinette had always been competitive. Always. The only thing that distracted her from that was when she was crushing hard on someone and it made her _ridiculously_ shy (as had happened with Adrien when she was fourteen, but she preferred not to think too hard about that). But Adrien had essentially challenged her. In spite of his sadness and her own wariness, she was more than happy to kick his butt in most rounds for that. 

"And now, a Quarter-Super-Plus Heavy Kick, and Flying Hyper Storm! Triple head combo, Marinette style!" she crowed as LB-03 finished the match with a spectacular combo, launching NAD03 from the screen. The character pumped the air in victory as the finishing card came up, declaring the score. Marinette copied it, dropping her controller into her lap to beat her fist into the air. 

Adrien gaped at the screen, hands gesturing wildly. "How did I lose? You literally told me every single one of your combos and I still lost!" he protested. A red flush coloured his cheeks and his eyes, despite the fact he'd lost, glistened as they flicked between the screen and her face. He looked so alive. Best of all, he'd lost the sadness from the previous weeks and the adopted measure of calmness and propriety that he wore almost all the time. This was Adrien in his truest form. 

"You're fighting against a Mecha master, Agreste," said Marinette teasingly. "Max and I won that competition in collége, remember?"

Adrien puffed up indignantly and prodded her on the cheek. "You were only in that competition because I dropped out!"

"You did it because you said I was better!"

"You were!" he cried. They both laughed. "God, what were we? Fourteen? Fifteen?"

"No, we must've been fourteen. I remember, only because my poor grandmére was akumatised on my birthday," Marinette giggled. "I still carry your lucky charm with me, the one you gave me the day she was akumatised. I bet that's why I'm absolutely _annihilating_ you." On cue, she grabbed her purse from the counter and produced the bracelet from within its confines.

Mouth in an o-gape, Adrien lightly traced it with his finger. Cheeks lightly pink, his mouth curved into a gentle, almost nostalgic smile, his gaze turning soft. "You still have it."

Marinette felt herself blush slightly at his expression. _No. Bad Marinette. No blushing. You're not fourteen anymore!_ "Of course. It's always brought me good luck."

"I still have yours too!" he said. His smile kept growing. It was large enough to rival even one of Chat Noir's infamous grins. Suddenly, he looked abashed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't have it with me."

He looked so endearingly concerned about it that Marinette giggled. "I won't hold it against you. It has been... what? Almost twelve years? I'm more surprised that you still have yours too," she said lightly. "But this means I will have to challenge you to yet another round. Dare you accept, monsieur?"

A look that could only be described as trouble crossed his face. "Challenge accepted, mademoiselle."

 

* * *

 

Adrien was awoken the next morning by the sun as it shifted across his face. They'd forgotten to close the curtains the night before and, thus, he was up with the sun. He didn't mind. 'Up with the sun' at that point in the autumn meant that it was at least seven. The only thing that bothered him was the dull ache that ran through his entire body because he happened to have fallen asleep sat up. Sure enough, there were drool marks on his shoulder where he'd rested his head on it. Nice. Sleeping upright had its perked. God, he hoped he hadn't snored. 

Stretching the tightness from his muscles, he yawned and began to stand up, only to be stopped in his tracks by the sound of a sleepy groan. Slowly, he checked around him. The TV was on stand-by - they must have forgotten to turn it off - and the controllers were tangled on the floor. The empty M&Ms bowl and a half-eaten bag of _Chilli Heatwave_ -flavoured Doritos were abandoned on the coffee table, as well as two mugs of tea that had been completely forgotten over the course of the evening. And none other than Marinette Dupain-Cheng was hard and fast asleep on his lap. Curled on her side, she had one arm and one leg dangling hazardously off the sofa, her cheek pressed against his thigh and her hair stuck in messy tufts over her face. 

It seemed that neither of them had managed to make it to bed. They'd stayed up playing video games until well after midnight and considering their long week, they'd been absolutely exhausted. Usually, he'd sleep on the chaise in her room because the sofa got cold but apparently they'd both fallen asleep before they'd even had the chance to turn the TV off. 

He didn't dare to move. Watching her, breathing slow and warm against his thigh, mouth slightly parted, he couldn't bring himself to disturb the picture of beauty and tranquillity before him. It was the most at peace he'd felt in weeks. A dull ache lazily coiled around his heart, an increasingly familiar but not unwelcome feeling. It had become an increasingly familiar ache since he'd started staying at Marinette's.

Delicately so as not to wake her, he ran a lock of her hair through his fingers, tucking it neatly away behind her ear. It had grown slightly since she'd first cut it. The longest strands tickled her ear and begged to be teased away. His fingertip traced the curve of her ear, barely making contact, before finding the soft line of her jaw. 

Marinette stirred in her sleep, groaning softly and nuzzling her face against his leg. Surprise at her sudden movement drove his hand away. Adrien felt somewhat thankful for it. What was he _doing_? It wasn't right, surely. Marinette was just a friend. He repeated it in his head, over and over. Paris was a temporary stop. He couldn't - _wouldn't_ \- find attachment there. _You're leaving in a few weeks, Agreste_ , he thought bashfully. Perhaps not even a few weeks. All of his pressing engagements with the project were largely finished; anything else could be completed elsewhere. 

All the more reason to keep his distance. 

As if hearing his thoughts, she shuffled again, rolling onto her back with a sleepy moan before scrubbing the sleep from her eyes with one knuckle. From that angle, he could see just how messy her hair had become overnight. Blinking blearily, bluebell eyes - brighter in the morning light - ensnared his. She gave him a sleepy, winsome smile. He though his heart stopped. The surge of affection rolled over him. 

"Morning, sleeping beauty," he said, clearing the morning roughness from his throat. Almost immediately, he scolded himself for his phrasing. _Really, Adrien?_

Marinette wrinkled her nose at the light filtering through the window. His hand twitched, wanting to trace the freckles on it. "What time is it?" she asked. Her voice was scratchy. The warmth of affection in his chest mounted. He hoped he didn't look as red as he felt he did. 

Glancing around, he told her the time and was met with another groan. It seemed that his good mood wasn't yet extended to her. That particular morning, the troubles that had haunted him for weeks seemed distant. It gave him room to breathe and feel free to be at peace with the serene start to the day. The drive to work and achieve distraction was absent. Since... well, _since_ , work had been his comfort blanket. It felt unfamiliar to not need it. 

Marinette sat up with a huff and made her way to the breakfast table. He felt cold without her resting on him but he drove the thought away vehemently. Excusing himself, he headed down to the bathroom to freshen up before making breakfast. When he returned, Marinette was sprawled across the table, arms splayed about her and hair messily falling across her face and sticking up at odd angles. Bedhead was adorable on her. 

"Mari, are you a functioning human being yet?" he asked, gently prodding her cheek. Slowly, she raised her head and gave him a half-dead stink-eye. 

"I am _not_ a morning person." Her voice was still slurred and rough with grogginess that he found himself oddly fond of. 

A bubble of humour escaped from his throat. She seemed surprised by it. "And here I was thinking you got also got up at ridiculous o'clock in the morning."

"I do. But I'm still dead to the world for a few hours after," she replied. With a noise of protest, she righted herself and tamed her bedhead with one hand. "Breakfast?"

After a brief perusal of the cupboards, he offered, "I can make pancakes?"

Once receiving a nod of approval, he set to work. Considering his lack of fixed accommodation for several years and having spent most of his life being waited on hand-and-foot, Adrien had little in the way of cooking skills. He had to follow one of the little Biro recipe books she'd dug from a cupboard for him and even with that, he struggled. It should've been common sense. Measure out the ingredients, mix them together and dump them in a pan. Job done, right? Unfortunately, even pancakes were beyond his range of expertise. The first one cremated itself to the bottom of the pan. The second was.... inedible. Before he could attempt a third, Marinette tutted from where she was making coffee and peered over his shoulder. Hands on his shoulders to steady herself, her chin rested in the hollow of his collarbone. He'd had to crouch slightly so that she could reach, though she was still on her tiptoes. Gripping his forearm, she'd guided him through the process of making one, hissing at him softly when he got something wrong. 

The entire process went in one ear and out of the other. All he could focus on was the heat of her body pressed against his back, the soft fingers on his arm and the warm puffs of her breath on his skin. At one point, she laughed and he felt it as if it were his own. It was a comfortable position, despite the ache in his knees from stooping. Her presence was cosy and natural at his back but it drove him to distraction. When she moved away, satisfied that he wasn't going to burn the house down, he almost missed the feeling. 

Over coffee and pancakes, they chatted idly. Marinette, still groggy but rejuvenated by the coffee, poked fun at his losses the night before. He didn't take it to heart. It wasn't like _he_ was the one with honey smeared on his chin. Besides, he appreciated her gentle humour. Everyone had been walking on eggshells around him - except for her. Even when tired and mussed, she made the effort to be in good spirits. In doing so, she'd raised his too. That morning had left Adrien with such a feeling of contentment and belonging that his troubles seemed miles away. Sitting across from Marinette, laughing easily and chatting as if there hadn't been seven years lost between them, everything seemed _right_. When she laughed, her face lit up, eyes crinkling in the corners as the grin rounded her cheeks. It made him want to smile too, so he did.

Once breakfast was done, she headed off to get a shower and he went about clearing up the mess from the night before and washing up the breakfast dishes. Plagg materialised from the cupboard to chastise him for a while and proceeded to tease him about his "domesticity" before vanishing into the fridge. Adrien didn't argue. It was true. He'd been more domestic since reacquainting with Marinette than he had ever been in his life. Before returning to Paris, he couldn't remember the last time he'd washed dishes or done laundry. The perks of privilege. 

The sofa beckoned him once he was done. Between the lingering sleepiness and the warm, dull feeling of being full from breakfast, he figured that he could snuggle on the sofa with his work to finish off what they'd forgotten the night before. How well did that work out? Not well at all. His own sleepiness combined with the hiss of the shower downstairs and the warmth of the room was a destructive mix. Within minutes, he was asleep.

The house had gone oddly quiet by the time he awoke. Judging from the light flooding the room and the shifted shadows, it was about noon. Someone - he assumed it was Mari - had covered him with a blanket and put all his work on the coffee table to avoid it getting creased. If not for the cosiness he felt, he might've been tempted to panic. It was rare that the house was so quiet, even without the clattering of the bakery. Upon inspection, there was no note on the worktop that may have informed him of Marinette's whereabouts either. 

Scrubbing his eyes, he wobbled up the stairs and softly called, "Marinette?"

There was no reply. Rapping on the closed trap door, he repeated her name. There was a faint scuffle, a cough, a rattle of the floorboards overhead. "Just a minute!" she called at last. A moment later, the trapdoor was flung open. Marinette, cheeks flushed pink from rushing around, summoned him into her room. Her hair was hidden under a bandanna. 

All the furniture in her room was smothered in dust sheets. Her mannequin looked like a ghost against the wall. Large tins of paint sat on squares of newspaper. Light streamed through the windows, the lack of blinds and curtains allowing for it to pour onto every surface. 

After a long moment of absorbing the strange, ghostly landscape of her bedroom, he asked, "Marinette, what on earth are you doing?"

She twirled girlishly on her tiptoes with her hands outstretched as if to show off the change. It was a graceful movement. She could've been a dancer or an acrobat if she weren't so clumsy. "I decided I've outgrown the pink, so I'm repainting my room. Care to join me?" 

"Any particular reason you've decided against the pink?"

"My life's changed and continues changing. I can't keep living in the past, so I've got to move past it. I think... I've been clinging onto what was left, but that's obviously doing more harm than good," she said matter-of-factly. Her words hit home, uncomfortably prodding the grief that he'd locked inside since Gabriel's death. Was he doing the same? Clinging to what was left? "And also my bed-sheets don't match the walls anymore and it's really bothering me."

He appreciated her humour. He dreaded to think of the downward spiral he'd been careening towards. Such spirals had been impossible to avoid in recent weeks and they often dragged him down. The look of fresh-faced excitement on her face was enough to draw him away from it. Adrien was just glad that she seemed to be doing better, too. "So rather than buying some that match the pink you're just repainting the lot?" he said, crossing his arms. 

She nodded, mouth quirking downwards into an appraising pout. "That sounds about right, yeah." Unceremoniously shoving a paintbrush into his hand, she ordered, "Get anything you want to wear again off and put on something scruffy." 

"Bold of you to assume I own anything 'scruffy'. Should I just strip?" he teased with a quirked eyebrow. When she blushed spectacularly, he felt a hum of pride. 

"Keep your clothes on, monsieur," squeaked Marinette. Clearing her throat, she put her hands on her hips. "Ruin those, if you wish, so long as you're willing to put in some elbow grease today."

He saluted. "Yes, madame."

"It's _mademoiselle_ to you." And with that, they set to work. With rollers and small paintbrushes, they tackled the ceiling first before moving onto the walls. The speakers on the desk exhaled the best that Jagged Stone had to offer. As the day slipped by and the perfume of paint filled the air, they weaved around each other as if it were second nature. At no point were they stepping on each other's toes or bumping into each other. It was like a dance. 

At one point, one of Marinette's favourite Jagged Stone songs began to play and she all but launched the roller from her hand in sheer excitement to dance along. Jumping around to the rhythm of the song, she tossed her head and kicked her feet, all pointed toes and toned calves. The scar on her thigh looked silver. Wisps of dark hair had escaped the bandanna. With each movement, her grin broadened. It was freeing just to watch.

After noticing him watching her with an amused smile, she grabbed his hands and forced him to join in. The dance was clumsy but exhilarating. Drowsiness had dogged him for weeks. Only now had it fully abated, as they jumped around her room and danced terribly to music that wasn't really for dancing. It almost reminded him of the times spent with his mother. They'd used to do the same - dance when no one was watching. Now, it was different. He didn't want to stop. 

The feeling of her hands in his was electric as they moved. They were both in hysterics, their hoots of euphoric laughter resounding through the entire house. Carefree, it was thrilling to be untethered even for a little while. Even when the song was over, the euphoria didn't leave him. Even when he tripped over and landed painfully on his butt, they stayed laughing. There was a certain freedom in laughter.

After that, it was almost impossible to regain the rhythm they'd had. They gently jostled each other, resulting in giggled apologies and more laughter. The final wall was almost done and they made a deal that one they'd finished it they'd make pasta for a mid-afternoon snack. That plan was sound until the inevitable happened.

Haphazardly dipping the roller for more paint, laughter had made them careless. The roller, overburdened with cream paint, squeezed a globular pearl of paint from within it. The bead swelled and rolled, stretched and fell at last. Pat. It landed smack dap on the end of Marinette's nose. Her mouth dropped open in surprise as she went cross-eyed trying to look at it. A second later and another drop followed, splashing on the exposed strands of her hair.

Adrien's lips curled involuntarily as he watched the paint drip from Marinette's fringe. He ballooned his cheeks until his face turned red in an attempt to suppress his outburst. It didn't matter. His laughter erupted so forcefully that he was left breathless and had to slump down onto the covered chaise. 

Pouting, Marinette protested, "Not funny!"

"If you could see the look on your face-" he laughed again, only partly managing to stop himself as her pout grew. Reaching up, he carefully brushed his fingers through her fringe, trapping the paint between two pinched fingertips. "Your pouting is adorable. You, mademoiselle, are a force to be reckoned with. It's like you know how to exploit my good-nature."

At that, she smiled sweetly. "That I do." And there it was again - that feeling of an ache curling around his heart. It was so complex in nature that he wasn't sure it would be something he could ever name. It was elusive, so close that the words were practically on the tip of his tongue. 

While he was distracted, Marinette leaned over him with a smirk. Adrien had never seen such a devious expression on her face and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and- 

The cold tip of a paintbrush chilled the skin of his cheek, leaving a trail of paint in its wake. Marinette narrowed her eyes as she swept the brush meticulously slowly, tongue poking out of the side of her smirking mouth. He didn't protest. He could hardly breathe. His eyes were latched onto hers and suddenly the air felt hot. Marinette's grin was impish and oh so alluring. The feeling in his chest was so strong that it was like a cord, crushing him slowly. He didn't mind. He was too busy staring - at her eyes, her freckles, her devious smile. She began to giggle and the cord snapped taut. Oh, _someone_ have mercy.

The spell was broken as the phone began to ring. His phone. Tinny and vibrating in his pocket, it pulled him back to reality so quickly he was certain that he had mental whiplash. Marinette drew away, still laughing at his dumbstruck expression. _Why did the phone have to ring?_ The air felt cold as she moved further away, returning to painting the wall. 

With a half-concealed sigh of exasperation, he drew it from his pocket and didn't even bother to check the caller ID before answering. "Bonjour. This is Adrien Agreste," he said. Professionalism was only a phone call away, it seemed. 

"Monsieur Agreste." It was Nathalie. Her voice was as crisp and neutral as ever. It was the first time he'd spoken to her since his father died. She hadn't sounded any different when she'd found out then either. He felt his mood drop exponentially. Could he never escape - not even for a day? 

"What is it, Nathalie?" Mild impatience crept into his voice. It caught Marinette's attention, judging from her minute frown. He tried to smile reassuringly at her but he had a feeling that it didn't reach his eyes. 

"The funeral home has sent me correspondence about the arrangements. They require a signature and the presence of a witness, sir, and I have arranged for us to visit to finalise the proceedings."

Ah, there it was. The final blow. The lingering feelings of lazy happiness dissipated and the beginnings of a headache replaced them. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he replied, "Why didn't you confer with me before arranging this?"

"It is a critical meeting, sir. It is essential that all matters pertaining to the late Monsieur Agreste are dealt with swiftly to avoid the press discovering the cover-up," said Nathalie. "The meeting is arranged for five o'clock this evening. Your driver will be outside Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng's home in thirty minutes."

Mentally, he cursed her. It was futile to argue. It was even worse to acknowledge that she was right. Dropping his hand to his side, he said, "Fine. Thirty minutes. See you then." And with that, he hung up the phone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit late update-wise but y'know... it's here. Let me know what you think. 
> 
> I'm super busy with school at the moment so I'm not promising consistent or quick updates. Apologies. 
> 
> ~ Kai [EggboyDraco]


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